


Those Who Won't Let Us Be

by Ragga



Series: The World That Is Not Ours [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, POV Multiple, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Worldbuilding, because Stiles and Peter both know there is no one else for them, even if they are not officially together, kind of, this is going to be interesting, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 02:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9214094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragga/pseuds/Ragga
Summary: The world was not kind. There was no place for a monster and a Spark there, just for a chasm that would like to tear them apart forever. There was only one way for there ever to be an 'us' - ayou and me- for them.They needed to destroy the world as it was, and build it anew in their image.





	1. Derek

**Author's Note:**

> So. Part three. Yay?
> 
> This one is going to look over the upcoming events (the plot, wow, there's a plot!) and the relationship between Stiles and Peter from the POVs of others. I struggled a little there since I kind of wanted to write this like a normal story, but, well. It didn't work out, haha. There'll probably be around 5-6 chapters to this. That's the current estimation, at least.
> 
> By the way, I love this world. Just wanted to share that with you!

He watched as the Spark ran. Lightning crackled behind it and hit the place where the Spark had just stood. It created a fire that his wind sister encouraged with generous application of the currents around them. Derek guided the fire, fed it with his power, to start following the Spark quicker than an ordinary forest fire would have. It panted from exhaustion, stumbling as it had to change directions time and again when a master piece of a burning tree almost fell on it. Finally, the Spark stopped.

It found itself surrounded.

Derek saw its eyes widen in shock as it took in the view of Derek and his sisters. He waved his hand for the fire to curl around the Spark, not letting it turn away from them. It didn’t, for some reason, but Derek didn’t really care all that much. He had just followed his sisters when they dragged him with them, and even that only to follow his mother’s orders.

He tilted his head. The Spark didn’t look anything special. It was like any other human, utterly dull and boring. Nothing remarkable. Its hair was the colour of the ground around them, its eyes didn’t shine like theirs did, and its skin was the boring kind of pale the humans so often had. It had nothing on his storm sister whose veins glowed blue and purple when she used her powers and whose hair sparked with electricity. It definitely wasn’t his wind sister either whose hair was woven like silk and grin sharp as the northerly wind in the darkest of winter. Derek met its eyes but didn’t bother keeping the contact for long. Instead, he focused on weaving the fire behind the Spark.

He moved his arm in slow motion, shaping the body to create a behemoth, a giant of olden tales. Its legs were like trunks of trees and its arms bulky and strong. Its body had more mass than the Spark a hundred times over. It was monstrous. It was a beautiful. He found it magnificent for barely a moment before the feeling dissipated as quick as it had come. Derek felt the numbness claim him again, and he relished in the serenity.

Calm was good, apathy was him.

Derek scratched the back of his head, mindful of his large horns. He frowned when he felt his hair break free again. The ties he had were too weak against the heat his body gave. He tried to tie his hair back with what remained but the rest quickly burnt off and left him with nothing but ashes. Derek shrugged off the hair from his shoulders and moved the locks behind his horns to keep them from falling to his face.

He met the Spark’s eyes again.

“Peter,” it whispered.

“Yes, him,” his wind sister said, the air around her blowing cold. Derek felt the invisible wisps lick his heels and, together, they created with a small fire between them; controlled, but cruel. “A funny thing. It seems that he refuses to listen to sense! Any idea why? Any guesses?”

She took a step forward.

The Spark stared at her warily but said nothing. It looked like it would have taken a step back, ran away actually, if that had been an actual option.

His wind sister pouted. “Now, don’t be silly. We won’t eat you. I promise. Although,” she paused and grinned, “you can see us. A Spark nearing its adulthood, aren’t you? My, uncle certainly knows where to find the tastiest of treats. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we took just a _little_ taste.” She imitated a bite playfully. Her eyes, on the other and, told tales of her seriousness and the air around her turned a tad colder. He saw his storm sister shiver.

Derek felt none of it. His fire kept him warm.

The Spark’s eyes gained a glazed look as they locked on his wind sister’s. Not a second passed when it called her-

“Laura.”

His wind sister took a step back as if the Spark had slapped her. Her glowing eyes, the same as his and storm sister’s, as all the Hales’, darkened.

“What did you just call me?”

But the Spark wasn’t listening. It quickly turned its head and-

“Derek. Cora.”

Derek felt a muted shock tingle down his spine but it was soothed by the flames caressing his skin, blown away by the warmth.

“Did uncle talk about us?” his storm sister demanded. Her hair sparked and her veins glowed, and the sky above them rumbled even with her clouds still far away. The Spark involuntarily took a step back when those sparks of hers caused the grass in front of it burn. It yelped when it felt the heat behind its back, licking its heels.

The Spark was trapped.

“You can either talk to us willingly or-,” his wind sister motioned at Derek who raised his hand. The Spark looked behind its back, and almost fell on the ground. Derek’s behemoth of fire stood there, its arms ready to grab it the minute Derek made a sign.

The Spark pressed a hand beneath its shirt and over its heart. Derek could hear it beat quick and fast, its sound like music to his ears. His mouth watered. It closed its eyes and lowered its chin. It almost looked like it was calling someone, praying, perhaps for help.

Derek heard its heart skip a beat, and then start racing.

The Spark smiled.

“What are you grinning about?” his wind sister snarled. She snapped her fingers and the Spark found itself unable to breath. It choked as it was lifted in the air with invisible hands. “Well?!”

The Spark couldn’t have answered her if it even wanted to. His wind sister sent it a nasty look. Its heart called for Derek. That power would surely-

“Well, if you aren’t willing to talk to us, then we just have to-”

The Spark never found out what Derek’s sister wanted to do to it because, just then, the most terrifying roar Derek had ever heard echoed around the forest. Not even Talia’s screams had the same effect. The Hales winced in unison, and Derek watched as a dark shadow jumped over them and attacked his behemoth. It let out a scream of terror and pain before crumbling and fading away, all in a matter of seconds. It was terrifying on a whole another scale for Derek was not weak, and his fire was strong enough to melt even his mother’s ice. The hulking beast with the reddest eyes, bloody with dark intentions, curled itself around the Spark, and the Spark rested its hand over Derek’s uncle’s neck.

Derek stalled his flames. It would do no good for them to aggravate their uncle now.

His uncle growled before shaking off the ashes the behemoth’s death had left on him, and smoothly transitioned into his humanlike form. He stood almost as tall as Derek without his horns but his presence had something different to it, almost alien. Derek wanted to both run away from him and sink his fire in his uncle’s skin, tear him apart, but the desire faded away quickly and left him wanting. His uncle stretched and pulled the Spark against his chest, safe, from the surrounding danger.

His sisters looked astonished even if Derek only felt mild confusion. The Spark stared at him for some reason, head cocked to one side. Derek felt the apathy wrap him in its sweet hold. He sighed, and wished it was all over soon.

“I wonder who gave you a permission to harass someone I have declared mine,” his uncle smiled pleasantly. It was horrible and had too many teeth in it. “I could have sworn I told you I wouldn’t be returning with you.”

“You have been away for a decade, uncle. Mother wants you to come back,” Derek’s storm sister said. His uncle’s smile turned sharp.

“Now, why would she? It’s not like she ever cared about my presence. Is it because, here, she cannot control my movements? Because I am finally free from her chains?”

His sister shrugged. “I care not enough to know. However, I do care about this one,” her eyes flickered over the Spark, assessing, calculating. “A Spark, uncle? One you haven’t eaten yet? Why on earth not?”

His uncle’s smile didn’t waver. “Now, I wonder when that became any of your business.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, uncle,” his wind sister snapped. “There’s no ignoring mother’s orders! Eat your Spark, and follow your betters!”

“Follow my betters?” Peter snorted. “Laura, you become more like Talia each day. A pity.”

His wind sister bristled. Derek blinked at his uncle’s audacity to call her by her name, or even Talia’s even if she wasn’t present. To his knowledge, his mother had never given her brother her name, and his uncle didn’t respect her enough to ever use it as a title.

“Why do you stay?” Derek asked, his gaze dully moving from the Spark to his uncle and then back to the Spark. “What makes it so special?”

“Oh, there are plenty of reasons.” His uncle nosed the Spark’ neck who arched it to give him better access. He watched as his storm sister’s eyes followed Spark’ still form, hunger flashing in her eyes. His uncle’s eyes hardened and the blue in them bled red. “Most of all that he has given me a place where I can belong, where I am free and chained down of only my own volition. Don’t pretend to care when you aren’t capable of it.”

“It’s not like you are either!” Derek’s wind sister huffed. “You’re a monster just the same, as well as our kin. You can never belong with someone this side of the Veil!”

His uncle huffed in amusement. “Can’t I?”

Ignoring her indignant screams, far from the heights of Talia’s, his uncle closed his eyes and his outline blurred and expanded back into the huge wolf. It wasn’t the same wolf Derek had seen a decade before but something sleeker, more elegant. There were no sharp corners or lines that didn’t match the form. Only the red eyes were the same, Derek noted, confused, curious. His uncle crouched low enough that the Spark could climb on his back. He glanced around and snorted at the wide eyes watching them and jumped over the moon with the Spark clinging on his fur, breathing in the scent it found safety within.

Derek watched them go, and wondered.

***

Derek followed the two to the house the Spark lived in, and where his uncle probably resided too. He melted into the shadows, a breath of summer’s heat in an already hot kitchen. His uncle immediately saw him there, and he thought the Spark stiffened too, but it couldn’t be. Sparks weren’t ever able to know where a monster was if they wanted to hide their presence or bide their time. He was just another spirit among the others.

His uncle, even if wary of Derek, didn’t attack but only kept his bloody eyes locked in his direction, subtly moving so Derek would have to go through him for to get to the Spark.

How mysterious.

Derek felt like he should care. He didn’t even know why he followed them, and not his sisters back behind the Veil.

“Why were you alone in the preserve?” his uncle asked the Spark instead, perhaps pretending at normalcy. The Spark seemed to be in the middle of cooking, and it also seemed to relax when his uncle spoke. It shrugged.

“You mentioned that the tree stump reminded you of the Veil, and how you didn’t remember the reason why and never found it again, so, you know, I thought I might have noticed something there if I went by myself. Spark’s child and all that.” It wiggled its fingers.

Derek frowned. Spark’s…? He must have heard that wrong. There was no such thing. Even if this Spark was one of the oldest he had ever heard of, it wasn’t possible for a Spark to procreate.

It just wasn’t.

“That doesn’t make you invulnerable, just more enticing to monsters,” his uncle growled, sending a heated glare at Derek’s direction. The Spark shrugged again, and stirred the vegetables in the pan. His uncle wrinkled his nose.

“You came.”

“I might not always be able to be there!”

“You will be,” the Spark threw a soft smile at Derek’s uncle over its shoulder. Derek thought he heard something weird happen inside his uncle, like something skipped, but he dismissed it. It wasn’t relevant. “You always are.”

Derek’s uncle glowered, trying to catch his breath. It was really strange. Derek watched as he gripped his chest, as if something unusual was happening. He frowned. His uncle was really different from what Derek remembered. Even if he hadn’t really been a big presence in his life – his mother loathed her brother for some reason – he had still always been there. Then, suddenly, he went to look for a meal and just never came back.

No one cared, in the beginning. Talia had rejoiced in the peace and quiet, laughed at her brother’s incompetence and crowed over her victory over him. His wind sister had followed in her footsteps but his storm sister had just ignored it all and danced with the lightning. Derek, well… He didn’t care. All his life had been surrounded by this strange dullness no one else seemed to feel. Little flashes of confusion, desire, fear, hunger, yes, they were there but anything stronger than that? Even with his fires keeping him warm, he was number than his mother ever was, even with her icy touch.

And his uncle, he had always been so different from them. From a family of elementals, a beast had been born. A hungry, horrifying, out of control beast that defied everything Talia wanted or did. Always there with a snide word or disparaging laugh. Insolent and never bowing under anyone’s authority.

And suddenly, he was gone.

Life had been quiet after that. The same, over and over again. Then, some years later, just before Talia was going to look for him, they heard from Deucalion that his uncle had – once again – been bested by someone more powerful than him. Deucalion had bragged about the Spark he had eaten, snatched just before his uncle’s eyes (“Peter!” he had laughed. “Peter, Peter, Peter!” and the chant had grown in power and contempt until everyone knew his uncle’s name and his failure). It had been powerful, they had whispered, the eldest one anyone had ever seen, over three decades under its belt and, did you hear, it had been powerful! It had elevated Deucalion even higher in their hierarchy, although he still hadn’t been able to catch up to the elusive Nogitsune, a legend amongst even the legends.

And Talia had left her brother be because, well, who wanted such a failure stain their clan?

But when a decade had passed without a single sighting from him, their mother had sent Derek and his sisters to search for him. They had, for a long time, but only when they checked the little town Deucalion had spoken of had his wind sister found him.

There he was, playing house with a little human boy.

Derek couldn’t understand why his uncle did it. He protected its sleep from the dust men, every shadow and fear was torn apart by him. The human, in turn, had cared for his uncle and kept him clean, fed him like no one Derek had ever seen.

It was so strange.

And then they had seen how the human had reacted to the supernatural. It had seen them, danced with them, spoken with them, and suddenly its treatment of their uncle made both more sense and even less.

The human boy was a Spark.

After that they had doubled their efforts but his uncle was always there, intercepting Derek and his sisters, making sure nothing would happen to it. He even refused to return beyond the Veil, and didn’t recognise Talia’s authority over him.

It was almost like he had renounced his ties to the Hales over a little Spark but it wasn’t possible.

Right?

Derek was woken from his thoughts when he heard a door open and close in quick succession. He smelt the scent of fatigue, old paper and gun oil that drifted to the kitchen. His uncle immediately shrunk, like it was something that happened every day, leaving Spark alone to face an older human male coming inside. The human was nothing remarkable either, although the Spark didn’t seem to think so as it stepped to enfold the male into a tight hug.

Derek’s fingers twitched. There was something warm in that embrace that left his flames cold, and he couldn’t understand it.

“Hey, kiddo,” the human smiled softly, and kissed the Spark on its head. The Spark beamed, there was no other word that could describe its expression. His uncle watched the scene peacefully, although he kept his beastly senses – superior to Derek’s in every way – trained on his nephew. There was a dare there, to act and be torn apart, but Derek wasn’t about to do so. No, he was there only to observe.

Why was it that he had forgone his clan for something like this?

And why, oh why, wasn’t Derek’s apathy curing him from this burning curiosity?

“Did you have a good day, o’ Sheriff of mine?” the Spark asked. “Dinner’s in a few.”

“Nothing happened,” the human said, and moved to fetch them plates and glasses. It glanced at Derek’s uncle, curling its lip slightly at the sight on him. Derek blinked. So, the human didn’t know what the Spark did. His uncle stayed motionless even if he seemed like he wanted to bite the hand that moved him from his perch. “Just some freshmen egging a teacher’s house.”

“Was it Harris’?”

“Might have been.”

“Yessss!” the Spark threw its arms in the air and cheered. Derek’s uncle seemed amused at the way the Spark almost knocked the pans from the stove, and hurried to right them. The human snorted.

“Careful, or it’ll be takeaway tonight.”

“Never!” came a quick rebuff. “I know you’re sneaking those muffins from the fifth and I’m not going to listen you claim otherwise. If you’re cheating during the day, then the nights are all mine!”

The human let out a longsuffering sigh, exaggerated just enough for dramatical effect. Derek frowned, staring at the strange exchange. Humans were so illogical. The Spark flailed again and Derek’s uncle couldn’t help but snort soundlessly, still drawing the human’s attention.

“You could have left the toy upstairs, Stiles,” it commented, and took his uncle from where he had been moved and put him on the counter.

“Where I go, Peter goes,” the Spark announced and put the pans on the table for easy access. It dragged Peter into a hug – his uncle, a hug! – and placed him next to its plate, much to the human’s chagrin. “I have never bowed to the norms of the society, and nothing you or anyone say will make me!”

“Yes, yes,” the human nodded and sighed again, and filled its plate with the strangest food Derek had seen people eat. It seemed reluctant to even touch it so he didn’t understand why it did. Why not get something that it liked? His uncle didn’t seem to find it weird at all which made it all the more bizarre to Derek. Was this some sort of human ritual? That wasn’t even the weirdest thing. Humans seemed to have such weird habits of calling everyone by their names too, and it wasn’t even as an insult. Rather, from what Derek had seen and now confirmed, it was more insulting _not_ to call someone by their name or their title.

The doorbell rang and the Spark jumped to open it. It left the room and a bright rush of laugh filled the air. One of the voices was a female this time, someone the Spark clearly knew, as it went on to chatter. The noises scattered in the air, words and phrases creating untold chaos, and-

The flames under his skin seemed slightly more heated than usual, and his numbness seemed to grow in line with his confusion. Derek frowned as he sweat, and yet the drops vaporised the moment they touched his skin.

He wasn’t sure he liked it.

He was so focused on himself that he didn’t notice the humans, both in the room and outside it, start complaining about feeling hot all of a sudden, and he didn’t see his uncle’s concerned look either. Derek suddenly found himself unable to handle the heat and it exploded out of him. The human twisted around to see the sudden flash coming from the corner but the only thing left there were ashes as Derek disintegrated into the finest layers of dust.

He fled beyond the Veil and refused to come out until his storm sister dragged him, his numbness twice as strong and everything else a faraway echo.

***

That night, Peter lay awake and kept watch over Stiles, but no one came.

And he wondered.

***

Derek started to come around more often, and watched as his sisters futilely tried to corner both the Spark and their uncle. They were both wily and strong, somehow stronger than the two monsters together. Derek didn’t care, he couldn’t care, he wouldn’t care. The curiosity he had hold onto had vanished as if he had been purified by flames, and yet his skin was a canvas that was never calm anymore and questions plagued his mind.

He watched but he couldn’t see.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to even look at.

Why had Peter stayed there?

What was there to stay for?

Why a Spark?

Why _this_ Spark?

He had seen the weirdly soft look his uncle directed at the Spark, how they both gravitated towards each other again and again. There were other humans there to interact with, some stranger than others, and even the supernatural had started to curiously come closer to them despite his uncle being a monster, despite the fear that still lingered but lessened each day, but the Spark had eyes for no one else and neither did his uncle.

His uncle had changed.

And Derek felt numb.

He left, couldn’t deal with the burn anymore, and fell into deepest hole he could find on the other side but it wasn’t enough.

He burnt.

***

Derek couldn’t sleep. He had tried but his mind was troubled worse than he had ever seen the dust men torment humans. His body temperature was shot, and he had never felt sicker. None could stand being close to him, not his sisters and not even his mother.

His touch burned everything and anything.

He tumbled to the human world, desperate for air that wasn’t stale and skies that weren’t grey. He hid in the forest, leaving behind smoking footsteps and dying leaves. The wood nymphs scattered away from his way, screaming in his wake. The air spirits ran higher and observed but didn’t dare come close, and the water sprites swam as far from him as they could.

_(Fire! Fire! It’s the Fire Man, he has come back! Run away! Hide away! He’s going to destroy us all again! Fire! Fire!)_

“No!” he yelled, delirious, and rushed into a pond he came across, letting out so much steam it was like a mist had fallen upon the woods. He laid on the bottom of it, eyes unseeing and hazy, willing for relief. He found his skin burnt and full of marks, _scars_ , that he had never seen on any of his kind before. He was scared. He didn’t know how to handle it. The water didn’t cool him down, nothing was right anymore, he didn’t know anything anymore, he wanted to _die_ -

Something dived after him and dragged him to the surface.

No.

Nonononononononono.

No, don’t do this to him, he can’t handle it, leave him alone, let him be, he wanted, _he needed_ -

He was enveloped in something warm but not too warm and it wasn’t until a long while later that he realised he hadn’t made whatever he touched burn to ashes. There was something soothing there, a beat, a _twin beat that poked a hole through the cacophony of despair_ his mind had fallen into. He gasped and clutched at it like it was the only lifeline he had and _he opened his eyes-_

Derek met stares of red and amber and drowned.

***

The next time Derek woke, he was in a strange room. There was a bed, and a closet, and a desk, a chair, and it was something he had seen many times and yet never before. His eyes lingered on a big paper trail on the opposite wall, filled with different kinds of coloured strings of green, red and yellow. He scowled. He could see names written there, and crude pictures drawn, and he even recognised himself on one of them.

What?

He rose and walked there, staring at the picture it painted. Red and black, horns that didn’t seem too sharp there but with brows thicker than his arms. His paper was joined together with his storm sister and wind sister by a green string, and a yellow to his uncle and a red to his mother. There were other names there too, but none that were tied to him. He did notice Deucalion there, and he was connected to someone named Claudia who was connected to someone called Noah and Stiles and then there was a big question mark on things like-

Spark. Nemeton. The Beast of Gévaudan.

The Argents.

Derek clutched at his throat. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t understand why. There was something missing there, something he knew intimately but he didn’t know what or why. His eyes stung as tears threatened to fall down and he felt like he was going to be swallowed by-

He raised his hand. It was bleeding. His nails had pierced his skin and now there were drops of red falling down his arm and down, down, down to stain the floor. His hand shook but, as if in trance, it rose and rose until it met the paper, just by the name Argent and-

 _Fire_.

He wrote the name of the element there, _his_ element, in his blood. There was something final in that, and his throat felt constricted again. He felt a caress of something in the air, a scent that spelt something soft yet strong, and turned around. He found his uncle in his beast form, big and hulking but somehow soft-lined and kind that still didn’t hide the cruel streak that Derek knew was there. Next to him was the Spark whose presence Derek had felt, even with his senses shot, and he met amber eyes – clearer now than ever before – with his own misty ones. There was a yield there that he didn’t understand but he didn’t want to let it go. He clung to it, whimpered, but he couldn’t move with his uncle in the way. The Spark stroke the wolf’s fur softly, like his uncle wasn’t the most terrifying beast of them all with the sharpest teeth and meanest temper and then he was as human as he could be again yet just as dangerous.

There was a twin sound beating in the air, calm and soothing, and Derek wanted to sink into it and never wake up.

“Help me,” he whispered, although he had no idea what he was pleading for.

And Peter’s eyes flashed.

“ _Fire_ ,” his uncle hissed, the word a whispered promise that couldn’t be broken, and he howled, the sound coming just as strong in his human form as it would have as a wolf. The sound was endlessly mournful and filled with determination and these weird humanlike feelings that Peter wasn’t supposed to have and-

Derek was enveloped in an embrace so tight that his breath hitched and tears fell down his cheeks. The Spark _– my name is Stiles, call me Stiles, I am Stiles –_ smiled softly at him, whispered to him just one word-

“Derek.”

And he didn’t burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is me, stressing over my thesis. Ahahaha.


	2. Noah

Noah watched as one night Stiles came home just in time for the curfew, dragging that godforsaken stuffed animal with him. As much as he loved his son – and he would allow no one to think his son was lacking in love despite having only one living parent, his child was a gift, _a gift_ – he couldn’t see what was so special about the toy. It was ragged-looking and old, and Stiles was already a senior in high school. It was like a calling card for bullies. Although, to his knowledge, Stiles wasn’t bullied there and Noah was pretty sure that not many, if any, knew Stiles still had Peter. Scott, maybe, but not anyone else.

He was glad for that.

His son wasn’t one of the popular crowd. He was too out there; too loud, too opinionated, too smart, too anything for a small town like Beacon Hills. He was also the son of the Sheriff whose job included busting the parties and giving speeding tickets. It was like a match made in hell for high school and-

And Stiles never lied.

Hid the truth, yes. Told half-truths and evaded answering, yet never looked anywhere but straight at your eyes, unnerving even the most confident. But if there was one thing Noah could say about Stiles, it was that he never outright lied, and there was a truth in every code he spoke, every word he used.

Stiles saw him then, staring at him, and told him he had been checking out the preserve, laughing about going off tracks near the pond. He sounded cheerful about it too, prattling about his little adventure and stating that he hadn’t been alone as per promised, that Peter had been there to protect him from any and every danger with his sharp teeth and even sharper mind.

Noah nodded, and wondered where Scott had been during all this.

He gestured to the kitchen where the leftovers of the takeaway could be seen, remarking something utterly forgettable about his day. Stiles grinned, seeing the label of the place that was on the approved list Stiles had made for him, and skipped to eat his dinner, leaving Noah behind. That had been happening more and more each day for the past few years. Now, he was laughing about someone named ‘Cora’ to Peter but Noah couldn’t for the life of him think of anyone by that name, in Stiles’ high school or anywhere else in Beacon Hills.

Was this ‘Cora’ another imaginary friend?

He watched as his boy, the only thing he had left of Claudia and the one person he loved more than anything else in this entire world, talked to the toy like it was a living, breathing being who could answer him back.

Like it was the only thing he needed to be happy; that if something happened to the world, to Scott, to _Noah_ , he would be alright in the end if he just had that one little toy.

And he worried.

***

“Sheriff.”

Noah raised his head from his work. Parrish was standing by his door, looking nervous, like he had something to say or confess. He gestured for the younger man to close the door and sit down. After a moment, Parrish obeyed.

“What is it?” he asked.

Parrish flicked his eyes to the side before meeting Noah’s.

“It’s Stiles.”

Noah’s mouth formed a thin line. Of course it was.

“What about him?”

“I saw him here yesterday while you were on a patrol, moving around the station completely noticeable while clearly trying to be otherwise. He was looking into some files.”

Noah felt a headache coming. He sighed. He had hoped Stiles had grown out of the habit of pushing his nose to things that didn’t really belong to him.

“What files were they? Was it the Esther case? Or maybe the Lahey?” Those two were the only prominent cases they had at the moment, ones that had been close calls for both the deputies and the victims. It was a shame that the Lahey boy, Isaac was-

“No, that’s the strangest thing. He wasn’t looking into any ongoing cases. When I tried to get closer, the sprinklers went on after a fire started by Tara’s desk. Still, he was definitely going through the Argent family files from what I could see.”

Noah frowned. “Are you sure it was Argent? Esther’s first name was Angela. You could have read it wrong.”

Parrish shook his head. “No, I’m sure. I’ve seen that name around town too much to not recognise it. I’m not sure if Stiles manages to copy the papers before the sprinklers started pouring water. It was a lot of water; I thought we would drown at first.”

“Alright. I appreciate you telling me. Was there anything else?”

Parrish started to shake his head again but stopped, thoughtful. “There may be-”

“Just tell me.”

“Tara saw Stiles running around the woods the other day. He didn’t hear her calling after him, he was just running like possessed. Or chased. But Tara saw nothing there, and he disappeared from sight soon after and she couldn’t find him anymore.”

“What day was it?” Noah asked, picking up his pen and jotting down the details. He would have to ask Stiles about that.

Kid, what have you gotten yourself into…

“A week ago, on Tuesday.”

The same day Stiles had made tofu and vegetables, and been extra jumpy. The same day Allison had come by their house.

Coincidence? Noah thought not.

“Thank you, Parrish.”

The man nodded, and left. Noah stared at the paper in front of him before pressing a button on his landline.

“Judith, please bring me all our files on the Argents.”

_“Is it urgent, Sheriff? They are a little messy right now. I can probably make them readable by tomorrow.”_

Noah pondered it for a moment. “...I can wait. I just want to check on something.”

_“Roger.”_

***

Noah changed his mind when he heard about the weird, small-scale fire which had happened a week earlier in the preserve. _Near the pond_. Calling Judith, he settled in to an anxious wait, fingers tapping his desk. He would have gotten the files himself if that wouldn’t have raised eyebrows and caused concern.

His senses were tingling, and it was a sign of no good; it never was.

The fire was weird, because no one had noticed it until it had already died on its own, area showing no signs of extinguishment.

It was strange, because he was just now hearing about it.

It was baffling, because after talking to Tara about Stiles’ weird behaviour, he could now conclude that the two had probably happened during the same day.

At the same area.

_At the same time._

There was something going on there, and Noah didn’t like it.

***

“Stiles, where were you at the time of the fire?”

“With Peter.”

“ _Stiles_.”

“I was safe.”

***

Nothing. The Argent files revealed nothing.

The only thing worth noting had been a couple of hunting accidents with one Christopher Argent, and one call about a loiterer with Victoria Argent but nothing else. He had also requested files on everyone in the family, just in case, but that revealed nothing either. Just an ordinary family with a daughter. Chris was an upstanding man working in the gun industry with hunting as a hobby, nothing illegal there, and Victoria ran a small interior design business from home. Their daughter, Allison, was the same age as Stiles and practically family too; she and Scott had been going strong since freshman year and Noah and Melissa had a bet going on when Scott was going to propose. Noah wasn’t too familiar with Chris but he could say he was a good man.

He couldn’t imagine what Stiles’ fascination with the family was.

Noah flipped through the papers. Chris was the only child of Gerard Argent, a member of the Senate. His business was a family business, started as a means of controlling the hunting in the 19th century by one Katherine Argent. Huh. A woman making a lucrative business when their rights still weren’t acknowledged. Good for them being so progressive.

He closed the files with a sigh.

Nothing.

Maybe Stiles was just curious about the family as a whole. Maybe Scott had mentioned something he had wanted to check. Maybe he just wanted to know more about the in-laws – because Stiles and Scott were brothers, no matter what – and he just thought Noah wouldn’t mind.

For some reason, the explanations didn’t really resonate with Noah but he couldn’t think of anything else either.

He made one last note on his papers before calling for Judith to take them away.

He would wait. If there was one thing Noah was, it was patient.

***

“How is Scott?”

“He’s busy with Allison.”

“How is Allison, then?”

“Busy with Scott.”

***

“Stiles? Stiles, are you home?” Noah called. There was no answer but Stiles’ shoes were by the door, so he was home. Removing his, Noah checked the kitchen and the living room.  Nothing. He must be in his room.

Noah walked up the stairs, eyes lingering on that one spot on top of them. That day over ten years ago had been one of the worst days ever. He had been watching the news when he had heard a commotion coming from the hallway. Claudia had started screaming – gosh, he hadn’t yet realised something had been badly wrong with her – and he had gone to look for what had happened. Just in time too to stop Stiles’ fall from the stairs. He had been falling neck first and if Noah hadn’t been there…

Well.

It was likely he wouldn’t have been here now either. If he didn’t have Stiles to live for, he doubted he could have survived the death of all his loved ones. Stiles had been the only thing he had, and still, lived for. He may not be at home as often as he would like but he had managed to save a sizable amount of money for Stiles’ college fund even with having paid off Claudia’s hospital bills. If Stiles could get a scholarship – and he could, his son was going to be Salutatorian or maybe even Valedictorian – he could probably go to any school he wanted and walk out mostly debt-free.

His son could have the future he wanted, whatever he wanted, and Noah wanted to be there to help him find it. If Stiles for some reason decided not to go into higher education, well, Noah would be disappointed – Stiles was brilliant and could do anything he set his mind to – but he wouldn’t stand in his way anyhow.

What mattered was his son’s happiness.

Nothing more.

He shook the thoughts off his head, fingers lingering on the scratches Claudia had made in her madness, and knocked on Stiles’ door.

“Stiles?”

Noah heard some rustling, and then a very bleary: “Dad?”

He opened the door, only to find Stiles lying on the bed haphazardly under his covers. His clothes were lying around in a messy pile and-

They were wet?

“Son, are you okay?” he entered the room, and sat at the corner of the bed. Stiles yawned.

“Yeah,” his voice was hoarse. He scowled. “Yeah,” Stiles tried harder but his voice just hitched.

Noah moved Peter a little to reach to touch Stiles’ forehead. It was burning.

“Jesus, kid. You have a fever!”

“I- I’m fine,” Stiles insisted. Now that Noah looked closer, Stiles’ eyes were slightly glazed and his cheeks were flushed. He very clearly was _not_ fine.

“No, you are not,” Noah said, hand combing Stiles’ sweaty hair. Of all things, when the autumn hadn’t even taken the turn to cold, his boy managed to get sick. Still, at least he wasn’t like Scott whose asthma put him in hospital thrice a year minimum. He didn’t know how Melissa managed but she was a nurse, able to be there for him, and a strong woman. “Tell me, when did you last have a drink?”

“Sometime around… midday. I guess.”

Noah checked the time, and cursed. “That’s over five hours ago. Just a second.” He jogged to the kitchen and poured water in the largest pitcher he could find, grabbing a cup too, both plastic. He didn’t want Stiles to worry about dropping anything in his fever. Not a minute later he came back. “Come on, champ, let’s try to get some liquid into you.”

It might be his imagination and his own worry clouding his mind but he thought Peter looked a little frantic. Gosh, it was a stuffed animal, Noah. Get a grip on yourself.

Noah helped Stiles sit just long enough to get something in him. If Stiles hadn’t drunk anything since midday, then that meant… yeah, he probably hadn’t eaten in even longer. He needed something to fuel his recovery.

“Can you manage for a little while? I’ll run by the grocery and make some of Claudia’s chicken soup, hmm?”

“Mom’s… soup…”

“Yes, that’s right. The magic one that always cures everything,” Noah smiled but, inwardly, he sighed. The only thing it didn’t was the maker’s dementia.

Stiles nodded and curled himself around Peter. Noah made sure the covers were on him before standing up. “Call me if anything happens, promise?”

“Mmm…”

That was probably the best he would get. Noah left for the closest grocery he could find, and ran back in just under fifteen minutes. Stiles hadn’t called him and, when he checked, he was fast asleep. The bed looked rumbled but Stiles was still in the same position he had been before Noah had left.

The toy was sitting by his head, though.

Noah stared at it but it only stared back, mouth open in a slight snarl as always. He shook his head and left for the kitchen. If he hadn’t been able to throw the toy away when Stiles had been a kid, then he had no chance of doing so now. He still didn’t know how Stiles had ever found the toy the time he had thrown it away just in time for the truck to leave the town. Noah had even checked it, and waited.

He came back only a little while later, if only because Claudia’s soup was actually just from a can with spices added from whatever they had. Stiles still didn’t know the little detail because Claudia had been adamant that believing in its healing powers were half the magic, and Noah had seen Stiles get better with just the soup and nothing else. Claudia hadn’t believed in the medicine they had now. He wondered what her reaction would have been if she knew that Stiles now had a prescription for Adderall. It didn’t seem quite ADHD what Stiles had but it was the best Noah could have done after Claudia’s passing and Stiles’ behaviour going haywire with him bouncing off the walls with Peter.

The toy was still on its perch when Noah woke Stiles up. He helped him to sit again, and spoon fed his little boy because the poor kid had no strength in his limbs. Stiles did try at first, but after almost dropping the spoon, Noah had quickly taken over. They didn’t manage to finish but at least Stiles downed half the bowl. The rest could be eaten later.

He was asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.

Noah sighed and collected the dirty, still wet clothes from the floor and grabbed the half-full bowl too. When he was by the door, he turned back long enough to look at the scene before him. His little boy, defenceless and tired, watched over by an ugly, snarly plush toy.

Just like always.

Noah rather doubted Stiles even really remembered life before Peter.

“Watch over him for me?” he asked, feeling a little silly talking to a toy. He left the door slightly ajar when he left.

He must have imagined the flash in the bloody red eyes.

***

“Scott hasn’t come over lately, has he?”

“I let him go, dad.”

“What?”

“Free. Free as a bird. If he returns to me, then he’s mine forever.”

***

The next day, before he left for work, Noah checked over still sleeping Stiles and found his fever mostly gone. He smiled but then frowned. The covers looked like something large had slept over Stiles, like a large animal. He glanced at Peter and met the toy’s red eyes head on.

A wolf, maybe.

He snorted, and shook his head, leaving a full glass of water and a couple of aspirin for Stiles to take when he woke up. He quickly scribbled a note too to remind him to call him when he did.

At least he was getting better.

Later that day, when his co-workers complained about the drought, Noah realised that it, indeed, hadn’t really rained for over a month. There had been sightings of sometimes-roaring thunder and weird highly localised storms, only heard and seen in the preserve, for some reason never making it to the actual town.

It made no sense for Stiles clothes to have been dripping wet.

Not at all.

The pen Noah held onto snapped in half.

***

“How is school? Lydia still topping the scores?”

“She’s there, dad. Her silver grows ever stronger.”

“Wasn’t she strawberry blond?”

“She is.”

***

Noah peered at Stiles’ room and scowled. He wasn’t home and his room was a mess. Great. He sent him a quick message which was answered promptly with ‘I’m meeting with people’. What people? Scott and Allison? No, if he was meeting with them, he would have just said so. His phone beeped again. ‘Don’t worry, Peter’s with me.’

He really had no idea what was going on with his kid anymore. The distance was driving Noah crazy. Since the summer, Stiles had turned even more secretive than ever before and it left Noah with nothing to held onto. His eyes swept over the room. True to his word, Peter was gone too. What was he supposed to do with his kid? He sighed, and glanced at the wall opposite the bed and froze for a second.

That was a crime wall there if he ever saw one.

He entered Stiles’ bedroom and strode over. The wall was huge and covered almost entirely. The Argents were there, all in a nice little pile. Everything from Katherine Argent to Allison, everything from the files was there, and even more details than Noah had read himself. There were crude pictures drawn that looked like fairy tale creatures and strings had been used to connect everything Stiles seemed to know, not know and question. Noah should know.

He had taught Stiles everything he knew.

There was also a mention of this family, the Hales. A lot of it, in fact, and they were the ones drawn weirdly. It was like no photographs existed of them. Noah’s eyes followed a link made in yellow and red between the one with weird horns, dubbed as ‘Derek’, and Katherine, and-

Noah blinked, and his mouth was drawn in a hard line.

Was that fire written in blood under her name?

 _Blood_?

Stiles, what in the world-?!

It was so much. It was too much. Noah had no idea what to think of the wall or what it meant. He had no idea where was the beginning and where the end, what to look at and what not. Who was Marie-Jeanne Valet and why was she important? Why was the Beast of Gévaudan there, a myth, a children’s fable of which Noah could barely remember the details of? There was even the silly little nursery rhyme Claudia had hummed and sang when Stiles was but a babe, about love and sparks and-

Noah shook his head, trying to clear his mind.

His life had lost most of its colours after Claudia left, and he only grasped at the remaining ones for Stiles. He touched the strings, seeing his picture – one he fondly remembered being taken with Stiles in his arms on his fourteenth birthday – on the wall. He was connected with green to Stiles, Scott and Melissa, and yellow to Peter for some reason.

He sighed, mentally taking a picture of the wall. He would have to investigate the matters closely.

The curtains flapped gently with no-existent wind.

***

“Do you have plans for Halloween, Stiles? A little trick o’ treating with Scott, maybe? And Allison?”

Smile.

No answer.

***

Something crashed upstairs. Noah frowned as he stared at the ceiling. There was noise there, like someone was trying to cover whatever had happened up.

Scratch that… _multiple_ someones.

Noah left his coffee and newspaper on the table – it was the evening but he had the night shift tonight so it was the ‘morning’ for him – and climbed the stairs. The noise grew louder, and he heard voices, whispers, demands, commands. The voices were all male and Noah was immediately suspicious. One of them was clearly older, too old for the person to be in Stiles’ room, a _teenager’s_ room, and that was infinitely not alright.

Not alright at all.

None touched his son!

He gripped the door handle and wrenched it open.

The room was a mess. Books were lying around, papers were almost floating in the air and the bed was unmade with half of its covers on the floor. Nothing was where it should be. Noah registered that the chair was, for some reason, thrown across the room and the metal of it was bent like something hot had touched it with the intention to melt it down. The covers of it were also smoking slightly and ripped.

But what really mattered were the people standing in the room.

Stiles was looking at him all innocent-like, as if nothing was amiss. He was still in the clothes he had worn when Noah had woken up, a red plaid shirt and jeans that actually fit – Noah wondered when he had bought them because they were brand new and looked expensive –, but his hair was messier and-

Was his hair signed slightly?

Then there was the other guy. He looked to be in his early thirties or something with a calm and self-assured air around him. From Noah’s perspective, he was attractive; Noah was comfortable in his heterosexuality and could to admit when another man was handsome. It also seemed like the man knew that too, and he was flaunting his presence in Stiles’ room. ‘Look at me’, he seemed to say with his cold blue eyes, ‘See how I’m here and you can do nothing about it!’

Noah narrowed his eyes.

He asked the man slowly, articulating as clearly as he could, just so there were no misunderstandings that could have made the man feel welcome in any way:

“What are you doing in my son’s room?”

Stiles and the man froze and a wild look entered in the former’s eyes while the latter looked shocked for barely a moment before he turned thoughtful and rubbed his chest. The man smiled slowly, and Noah’s heart beat picked up. Those were some sharp teeth in his mouth and-

Did the man have claws? Actual _claws_?

“Dad-”

“Get away from my son!” he barked but the man looked even more amused than before. Noah scowled and reached for his gun-

“Dad!”

The wastepaper basket started smoking, and then burning. Noah’s mouth curled. Vandalism, was the man trying to burn the house down too?

“Stiles, get away from him!”

“Dad, you don’t get it!”

“I don’t see there’s anything to get but that there’s a thirty-something man in a teenage boy’s room. You’re under arrest for trespassing-”

“Dad, that’s Peter!”

Noah froze. His eyes narrowed even more as he, slowly, turned to look at his son. Stiles had an earnest if confused expression on his face and he stepped to stand next to the stranger. The man actually leaned toward Stiles, almost curling around him, like he was-

Like Stiles was the sun he orbited around.

“Dad. This is Peter,” Stiles repeated, this time softly, pleading him to understand. Noah’s stomach dropped. What was his son saying, trying to lie-

But Stiles never lied.

Never.

The stranger leered, appearing to do his utmost to make Noah uncomfortable – he tried to reach for his gun again – when Stiles smacked the man in his chest.

“Peter, stop it,” he scolded and the man scoffed but surprisingly did as asked. “Introduce yourself!”

“My name is Peter,” the man – Peter? – droned and Stiles smacked him again.

“I don’t- I,” Noah felt lost. Peter. When had Stiles met someone else named Peter? He tried to desperately look for the toy Stiles loved but he couldn’t for once see it anywhere. At any other day, he would have been happy to see that but now? Now?

Outside the house, thunder rumbled.

“He doesn’t believe it,” Stiles mumbled quietly, just loud enough for Noah to hear in the otherwise quiet room. Only the fire seemed to crackle louder. He should, he probably should put it out-

“Show him.”

Noah’s attention was dragged back to the scene before him. Peter was staring at Stiles with an openly curious and slightly sceptic look but Stiles was determined. Noah recognised that look; it meant that his son wouldn’t be backing out, no matter what.

“Show him,” Stiles repeated. Peter shrugged and started to take off his clothes. Noah was about to open his mouth to say something but the man’s eyes – had they glowed this whole time? – bled from blue to bloody red and-

Peter grinned, and suddenly, in his place was a monster of a wolf.

Noah let out a muffled noise, ready to reach out to Stiles, take him behind his back and tell him to run away, that Noah would protect him while he fled and-

But Stiles was calm. He looked at the monster like it was something he cared about, loved, and it-

Its name was Peter.

The monster’s name was Peter.

And Noah distantly heard his world shatter down to pieces.

***

_When was the last time we truly spoke?_

_When did we start missing each other?_

_When did I stop hearing you?_

_Tell me…_

_Was my little boy ever mine?_

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No pronoun games this time! I feel bad for Noah, though :/


	3. Cora

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all. Just saying. Thanks <3

Cora watched as her wind sister huffed a hurricane and screamed until ears were bleeding. She had been trying to get their fire brother out of his hole since he rushed back, afraid, angry, hurt beyond words. The fires were only being encouraged by her wind sister’s rage and the more she threw her might against her fire brother’s, the hotter the flames burnt and together, they created an inferno.

Cora turned away then, and stormed outside. As much as she wanted to drag her – their – fire brother outside again, she was not going to bother when he would only drag himself back immediately afterwards. Unlike her wind sister, she had no intention to waste her storms on a lost cause.

And their fire brother was one, right now.

She could not comprehend what could have managed to drive him to such a need to burn himself until he felt nothing again. To see him hide behind his flames; to sense the anger, the despair, all the things that had been once mild inside him – all of them and the vehemence they had come with had shaken Cora to her core like nothing about her brother ever had. Her wind sister hadn’t seen her fire brother’s face when he had burst past the Veil. The agony he was in was alike the burning frost their mother was especially known and revered for.

And Cora could not understand why the short time they had spent apart – so short it was like none at all – had changed her fire brother unrecognisable.

Something had happened beyond the Veil, in the human world. The human-

She paused. The human world. Humans. Sparks. Her uncle and his Spark.

It was all because of her uncle.

It had to be.

Because there was no one else it could have been. Him and his little Spark.

And Cora was going to get the bottom of it all, and free her fire brother from his pain and let the apathy cloud his mind once again, safe and sound; let him be the monster he really was.

She crossed the Veil.

***

She found them the next day, trampling around the woods like they owned them and without a care for the world and its horrors. She followed them, quietly, silently, with clouds hanging above them as the only thing to announce her presence. Cora was quite sure that her uncle knew she was there – his senses were far superior to hers in every sense and were even greater than her mother’s – but he didn’t seem to mind it that much, or didn’t seem to think her as a threat.

It angered her, and sparks sizzled down her locks. She saw the Spark stiffen, head tilting towards her direction and that-

What?

Her uncle must have told him she was there although she did not see his mouth move. His communication in his beast form was stilted, weird, and never easy to follow. And animal he was, ugly and misshapen, mouth never bending right to form humanoid sounds.

Although, her uncle’s form seemed… different, to say the least. He was still as large as ever, big and great, ready to tear down enemies and allies alike if that hit his fancy and her mother unleashed him to do as he wished, but this? This wolf was not the form her uncle had worn for years and years, cycle upon cycle. This was a bastardised version of it, like he was a cub instead of the mighty beast he was born to be. His legs were straight and his spine wasn’t bent like it used to be. His snout wasn’t mangled and his fur, what once was akin to layers and layers of the colours of mud, was multi-coloured and sleek, still rough-looking but like it might be easy to cart hands through.

It was absolutely hideous.

Cora hated it at first sight.

This, this something was not her uncle. This was not the monster she remembered.

Her eyes flashed, and the thunder above her rumbled, and she was sure it was the Spark’s fault. Her uncle, her brother, her clan; broken and vulnerable. All its fault.

She wanted to attack right then and there but she noted how her uncle’s spine had stiffened and those blood red eyes – even they weren’t gleaming like they used to, shame, shame! – focused in her direction and his teeth – sharp like needles but dull, oh, they were so dull – glinting in the sun light. Cora backed away, wise beyond her years and knowing she would not survive unscathed if she tried something right under her uncle’s eyes. He was strong, so strong, and changed, and Cora did not know how that had come to be and what it truly meant.

Something unprecedented, her uncle was.

But, she was wily and strong too, and she would wait until the right time and then _she would_ -

They arrived to a clearing, and Cora lifted her head, glancing around, as something that felt like Void, like the Veil, surrounded her. It felt unnatural to her, something suffocating and despairing, and there was too much there, and she couldn’t, _she couldn’t_ -

“Someone has been here,” her uncle said, frowning, prowling around the tree stump in the middle of it all. Cora hadn’t even noticed him taking a humanoid form, so distracted had she been. He sniffed but his scowl only deepened. “And I cannot catch the scent of who it was.”

“Are you sure?” the Spark asked, dancing with those long, spindly legs on top of the stump. It was the largest she had ever seen but her attention was not on it. No, it was on the unwelcoming air around them, screaming at her to go away, leave _this place, never come back for you have not experienced pain until-_

“Yes. For some reason, it almost feels like-,” he frowned, musing aloud, stopping in his place, “Like something similar to the Void this clearing is steeped in, the way the Nemeton surrounds itself, the way the Veil-”

The Spark’s back was to her. It was totally focused on her uncle, forgetting about everything and anything, eyes only for him. It felt like the perfect target for a-

Her fingers sparked. She could feel her power surge and-

A loud howl reverberated around the clearing, and started Cora and her lighting slipped from her grasp. Her uncle was staring at her like she was a threat, a menacing growl making it past his human lips. The corners of her mouth twitched downwards. Couldn’t he see? It was the Spark who was a threat to his wellbeing! No monster should be subjected to something like… that! It was like he was on a leash to a lower lifeform! It was like-

Like he preferred that to their clan and her mother, the notoriety they shared and the fear they enjoyed to whatever this _Spark_ was offering.

Why, uncle, she wanted to ask, demand, but not plead – _never_ plead – but then slunk back to the shadows, and dragged her clouds with her and the sun that shone behind her tracks mocked her with every step she took.

The growling did not stop until she was far enough to not hear it anymore.

***

Her wind sister helped her try to confront the Spark and their uncle separately many a times but to no avail. Her fire brother watched their attempts and, yet, did nothing to help, unless they could break through his reinforced shields. Cora could only stand by and watch as her fire brother was silent and ever present, quiet and seemingly fine but she could see, _she could see_ , how her fire brother was being slowly strangled by something she could _not_ see, for those walls he had built were stronger than ever, and impenetrable by her storms and she _could not see_.

The strangling he was subjected to was not her wind sister, no, it was not, she could recognise that. Her sister might enjoy playing with her siblings, preventing the air from reaching their lungs as a gesture of affection – never long enough to hurt but just enough for the sensation to linger, never to disable, never to _kill_ – but it was not that. He was looking like he was burning on his own, bound by forces so invisible even he could not find them and break himself free from the shackles.

Cora turned her eyes to the Spark covering, _hiding_ , behind their uncle’s great, weird, different form. She met its eyes and, oh, they were burning like her brother and-

It had to be it.

She steeled her mind and calmed her breath.

She needed a plan.

She needed to destroy it before it destroyed them all.

***

“What is wrong with you?!” she demanded, cornering her fire brother after their wind sister had been called away by their mother. He twitched, and his flames licked his heels, carving his footprints into the ground. She needed to know, needed to see into what depths the Spark had driven him to. She wanted to see how much pain she needed to inflict on it for its missteps into the forbidden territory that was her clan.

He stayed quiet.

“That does not answer me,” she said, warned, and locked her gaze in his.

He evaded her eyes, and fled, leaving behind dying flames that made Cora’s steps falter as she had to run away to not be consumed by the heat. The clouds above her rumbled and opened, drowning the earth in their tears.

The flames did not fade.

Not until Cora felt her fire brother leave her behind, alone with none of the answers she-

She would just have to stick to what she knew was true.

***

“I challenge you.”

Her uncle slowly turned to look at her, stare at her, like she was something unique but far beneath his station. She bristled. It was _him_ who was lower than her! Couldn’t he see? She was trying to save him from being such a disgrace to their name of Hale, to stop bringing shame upon their shadows! She wanted to-

She wanted to destroy it, the Spark that caused all that pain upon her clan, make it feel the same despair it had made them feel.

Her eyes flickered to her fire brother who was watching on silently but there was something different about him too. He seemed almost relaxed, like his previous days, weeks, months, worth of chaotic presence had been but a dream. He seemed almost calm again, and no fire was leaving his control. He was holding a little flame on his palms, playing with it, lighting the shadows with it, and he-

He transferred that flame onto the Spark’s hands.

Her eyes almost bulged out of their sockets.

No monster was supposed to, has never even wanted to, share their essence with anyone.

Not one!

It was- it was-

Unprecedented. Horrifying. How could he do that to the Spark who was there, with its shackles all around her clan members?

“I challenge you,” Cora repeated, locking her eyes with her uncle’s, thunder roaring above her, “To a duel. If I win, you will return to where every Hale belongs to - to mother's gardens of ice.”

For if they did, there was no protecting-

She ground her teeth together. Her uncle dared to look amused!

“And if you lose?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Not going to happen.”

She could not afford for that to happen.

Her uncle shrugged, unconcerned, unafraid. “Then we’ll leave it open. Just so you acknowledge that I can decide on the prize when the time comes.”

“It won’t.”

It won’t, it won’t, it won’t-

“Swear it, or there will be no duel and I will just run you out.”

Cora looked over to see her fire brother hold his hands over the Spark’s, helping it keep the breath of fire alive, but the Spark was watching her, cold, calculating, but just as amused as her uncle.

She was seething with her lightning.

“Deal.”

Her uncle flashed his teeth at her and his lines simmered until in his place stood a humongous wolf whose mouth was open in a snarl and eyes were bleeding red. It was terrifying but ugly, not like the form he had owned for as long as Cora had known him, not like the uncle she acknowledged.

This was not the uncle loyal to the name Hale, and so was not the uncle she was loyal to either. She would not hold back. This was fight she could not lose.

Cora bared her teeth at him, and raised her arm. A single lightning bolt hit it and she formed a trident out of the energy, her preferred weapon. It sizzled with power, and was her most prized possession.

She never failed with it in her grasp.

They met in the middle of the field, and the skies opened and the storm settled in.

***

Cora lay on the ground, her trident broken, her body bruised and ribs cracked, and blood streaming rivers from the slashes left by her uncle. His teeth were curled around her neck, pressing down, and Cora knew, she _knew_ , he would snap her neck without remorse – because what monster knew pity? not one, not any she had ever known, and his loyalty was lost to winds not controlled, fires left to die, storms never called and ice never to be melted – and leave her body to waste away in this forsaken land of humans.

Her eyes hardened. She would never-

“Give up.”

She startled, and her neck started to bleed as she nicked herself on her uncle’s teeth. Her eyes flashed to her fire brother who was standing close, looking at her, with a look in his eyes she could not read for the life of her. The Spark was standing next to him, petting the flame on its hand absently, eyes only for her uncle like she was no longer worth to look at. It was like it hadn’t been affected by her storms and wasn’t standing there wet and cold, tainted by her powers, even with her brother radiating heat.

She wanted to rip into its flesh and eat it and _consume_ -

“Give up,” her fire brother repeated, holding out his hand for her.

She watched him. He was calm, quiet, but there was something to him, like he was-

“Give up.”

She wanted to know what had made him change. Her fire brother.

The brother who had whispered his name to her on a day much like this, years and years and _years ago-_

“Give up.”

_Derek_.

She lowered her eyes, and felt the fight die inside her.

She surrendered.

***

The prize of her loss was to not betray her uncle for any reason.

The demand had been carefully worded. She wasn’t able to touch the Spark without explicit permission, and if she ever got one, not to hurt him in any way. She was also denied access to the Veil until her uncle thought it necessary, and he bound her to never reveal anything he did not want to be told.

Her fire brother had nodded, solemn, but like it was something reasonable.

Cora accepted but only because of that.

Now, she had no mission. She had no idea where her wind sister was or what her mother was up to. She did have access to her powers but they were of no use when she had no reason to use them. So, she wandered around. There was a time, immediately afterwards their duel, that her uncle had been frantic and growly, not allowing her or even her fire brother to the room with the Spark. Another human entered the house too, and left and came back, and cooked and whatnot. It was a bizarre dance and continued the whole night.

Her fire brother waited by the door, listening, but never entering. He didn’t let her even look through the door’s crack, even with her word binding her.

Cora was confused.

She did not know what was going on, and she did not like it.

What is with you, Derek? she wanted to ask but could not force herself to say the question aloud, nor use his name.

She was not sure what kind of welcome her words would have had if she had.

She did not know where his loyalties lied.

***

Apparently the Spark had been both vulnerable and sick, and Cora had caused it.

She found that out by having been cornered and struck by her uncle. She didn’t resent him for it as she had had worse whenever she had displeased her mother. It just was what it was. What did surprise her was that, while her fire brother did not lift a finger to help her – and why would he? –, the Spark had pleaded her uncle to stop it at that one hit.

And he had, despite giving her one last look of threat.

It baffled Cora.

“Why?” she blurted because she could not stop herself. The Spark looked at her funny but Cora couldn’t find it in herself to be angry about it. “Why would you stop? It was not like I did not deserve it.”

It was not like he cared for her, only about commanding her clan to satisfy his whims and would not allow that to happen for her, she had to fight, she had to resist-

The Spark looked deeply disturbed by that, and curled itself on its bed. Her uncle moved to sit by its side, leaning on it and sharing his scent with it, like he was supposed to do with his clan but had never initiated the contact with.

“That’s not how we do things.”

“We? As in humans?”

The Spark shrugged.

“We; those who have a heart.”

Cora did not comprehend but apparently her fire brother did. He gasped softly, eyes widened in what looked like wonder, and Cora, Cora felt left out as she wanted to experience that sense of-

She shook her head. She did not need such nonsense. She would stay strong. She was not like her fire brother who always had been the weakest of them despite his flames burning the hottest.

“Is that why, the sound, your chest-”

Her uncle nodded. He pressed one of his hands to his chest, and the other one on the Spark’s. There was a – and Cora had to rub her eyes, because she could not believe it, did not want to believe it – smile on his face and he looked-

Happy?

It was like-

“A heart,” she gasped, eyes wide, incredulous. Quick as lightning, her mind raced. She had always been the fastest of her siblings, quick to anger, quick to hate, but quick to move on and figure things out. Her brother was the fire, slower to feel but even slower to forgive as his fire could burn the ground until nothing was left, and her wind sister was the breeze that floated freely, unbound by anything but what she deemed hers and necessary for her to know, independent and suffocating. “You have a heart.”

“I do,” her uncle admitted, drawing the Spark ever closer. Cora could not look at her uncle without seeing the Spark too. “And it’s all because of Stiles,” he dragged out the name, relishing in it, and the Spark wasn’t offended by its name being used, seemed to enjoy the caress-like breath against its skin and smiled brighter than the sun.

“The Spark? What does he have anything to do with it?” Her uncle threw her a quick look, contemplative, thoughtful, laughing at her confusion.

“Everything.”

“That tells me nothing. It’s just a Spark. You did not even eat it. Or is that the reason for your- _deviation?”_

Another look. A smirk formed to twist her uncle’s mouth. Cora felt her brows curl into a scowl.

“Everything,” he repeated, never answering her question. “He is _everything_.”

***

Unless he did.

***

Cora watched as the human – Spark’s father? – walked out of the room, dazed, and reeking of grief and despair. It smelt delicious. She kind of wanted to follow it and have a snack but all those years on its shoulders would have soured the taste so much that it would only leave her hungrier than before.

It was a lesson she had learnt the hard way, a long time ago.

“He could see you,” her fire brother whispered. He seemed to be in sort of a state of shock. The Spark was quiet too, and as Cora stepped into the room, she could see it look so yearning and sad that she automatically took another step forward because she felt compelled, alright, and the heavenly scent was-

She was stopped in her tracks and she realised what she had been trying but found herself unable to do. Her uncle gave her only a quick look before turning to her fire brother. Her mouth twisted downwards.

Her word was binding her, and she could not move a muscle forward.

“He could,” her uncle agreed. He hugged – _hugged_ – the Spark close, embraced it like something breakable – and it was, so easy to break, easy to snatch, like it could be, _like it should be_ – and let it find comfort in his arms. The Spark closed its eyes and trembled.

“He’ll come back,” he whispered and stroke its hair, gentler than Cora had had any monster treat anyone. No one had ever been that kind to her, and she did not mind, it was not in their nature, but her uncle, he was contradicting everything.

Everything!

“He left me,” the Spark whispered, broken, grieving. Her uncle stopped for barely a moment before continuing caressing it.

“He only left to take everything in. For someone not familiar with our world, it is not so easy to accept. You have lived me and our world for years, dear heart. He has not. But look! He still left what he holds dearest to his heart here, in my hold. Do you think that means nothing at all?”

“He does not trust you.”

“No,” Peter agreed, “But he trusts I have your best interests in my rotten mind, even in the midst of the chaos of his own. You are _mine,_ Stiles, and I am never letting you go. Not for your father, not for anything.”

And that scared Cora to her core. Was that what the heart was? That loyalty, it was twisted, scary, something that could consume someone so easily and leave them helpless, unable to resist. Oh, the pain would be excruciating and would kill even the mightiest monster.

And so it had trapped even her uncle, and had bound her to not be able to destroy the chains that bound him-

“I want a heart,” her fire brother whispered, and she turned to look at him, face pale, and unable to understand. Why would he want something like that? Something that slaves even monsters, makes them weak, makes them-

Human?

“I want a heart; do you think I could gain a heart? I’m just burning and never more than numb and I want to _feel_. I don’t want to burn anymore. I don’t want to find myself alone and never feel anything but the apathy that threatens to suffocate me even now. I can’t-” he gasped for breath, “I can’t live like this anymore. I will go mad, and, _and_ -”

The pair, wolf and Spark, watched as her fire brother fell to his knees, silent.

Waiting.

“No, even I know it’s impossible,” he said softly. He pressed a hand on his chest, over the place where a heart could be beating and wasn’t. “I haven’t felt a single thing over all these years, not anything worth mentioning. Not even with this proximity to a Spark’s aura. It just feels like the Veil.” He lifted his eyes and grief filled them as he watched the pair in front of him. “You two have something no one else has ever had. I have seen the way you two are, how close, there for each other, living a bond never seen before. You share a heart. I just- I want to feel. Uncle, I don’t want to be empty anymore.”

Her uncle seemed like there was something lodged in his throat, and something – barely a whine – managed to find its way out. The Spark squeezed his hand, staring at her fire brother with a patient, gentle expression.

“Please, uncle. Please… Uncle Peter, Spark, _Stiles_ ,” he begged, crawling towards them but staying out of reach, almost like he did not _deserve to be there_ , in their presence, lost forever.

Cora stared as her fire brother, the one who never let anything through, started leaking from his eyes. _Crying_ , her mind whispered, but it was her who controlled rain and lightning and for her brother, someone whose very essence was fire, to be able to cry tears, _water_ , meant his grief was strong enough to break the barriers his soul set for him.

And Cora decided that, if not anything else, she wanted her brother to find peace.

With one last look at her uncle, meeting his eyes and seeing him nod, she turned on her heels, and left.

***

Cora crossed the Veil, determined to find answers. She flitted through the shadows and tendrils of darkness like one of her bolts, faster than sound and greater in power. She felt the moment when her sister’s winds caught her but burst through without a care.

She arrived at their nest, a place to call a safe resting place. A home? She had heard both the Spark, and her uncle in a lesser sense, refer to the house as a place like that but she did not feel it. She stopped and stared at the place she had spent so many years, never questioning, never thinking twice. She prided herself as the quickest and smartest, and she was – her mother had told her so many times, a little Hale to be renowned –, but she had never thought twice about her orders, about her existence, about what she had been told.

But, so many people had been wrong.

There could be a place called home for a monster.

And the monster who had found one had been her uncle.

Peter, Peter, her mind heard the mocking laughs of years previous, and she couldn’t help but think that, even when Deucalion had found the Spark, her uncle had found something far more precious.

She felt the emptiness for the first time, and wondered, if it had been there the whole time. If this was the numbness her fire brother had felt, what _Derek_ had felt, his whole life.

How had that happened? she thought, questioned, and felt her arms being tied firmly in the cold breeze. She relaxed into the hold, and felt those winds turn her around to face her sister.

“You have been away,” her wind sister said mildly. Cora nodded. She had. Since the day a week ago – maybe even longer – she had not stepped into their realm. “Mother has been looking for you. And our brother.”

She kept quiet. Her sister’s face twisted.

“Where have you been?” she asked silkily. Her tone was gentle but it felt like a threat.

She kept quiet. Her sister snarled.

“Answer me!”

She kept quiet. She felt a sensation not unlike a finger sliding down her cheek. She heard a whisper, soft, carried by the currents.

_“I know what you are doing.”_

She felt the air tighten around her but she burst through, broke free from the grips, and zapped inside the nest, rushing through until she reached the place her mother always kept what she deemed important, memoirs and memories of past long gone, and Cora had once found about it by accident and was sure, had tried to make sure, that no one knew she knew and-

She left before her sister could reach for her again, clutching at her findings, a book with her mother’s handwriting – it was old, so old, and weathered and almost crumbling in her hands – and it all almost felt like she could fly.

“I know where you have been, _Cora_ , and I will come and get you all!”

She didn’t stop, rushed past the gardens of frost, the lakes she could never reach, and the silence that had never before mattered to her but now felt too much, strangling, making it difficult to breathe.

She didn’t stop.

She _couldn’t_ stop.

And she knew where her loyalties lied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to get serious~


	4. Lydia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a chapter count!

Lydia watched as the weird kid was almost banged against his locker but with one look, one word from him, and the bully turned on his tail and left him alone, running away like a scared little mouse in the face of danger. It wasn’t that she cared, really, she thought, trying for impassive but failing to convince herself. Stiles – and, alright, everyone knew the kid’s name – was a nuisance and too different for his own good. He was always there, too knowing and all-seeing for his own good.

And he watched Lydia like he saw something that just wasn’t there.

It unsettled her, it really did. She shivered, turning to look at the insides of her locker, pretending he wasn’t there standing barely a few feet away from her. Here she was, the picture of the future prom queen and the most popular girl in the high school’s history but it was like Stiles saw none of that. It was like he didn’t even see her as the genius she was, the valedictorian and the future Fields medallist.

No, he saw something else.

And it terrified her.

She could see him watch her, twist around to see her hair shine in the light and he would lock his eyes on hers and stare until she just had to turn away, afraid of what he might be seeing in her. And once, just as they stepped into the shoes of high school freshmen, she had seen him draw a crude picture in his assignment sheet while lost in his thoughts, and forgot all about it after the chemistry experiment a few desks over had caught fire and the whole class had been suspended.

And when she was passing his chair on her way out, she had seen it.

A picture of her.

With silver hair.

She had touched her locks, strawberry blond, curled into perfection and prettier than anyone else’s, and for the first time ever, was truly afraid.

What do you want from me?

***

“Lydia.”

She stiffened, and turned around to meet Stiles’ eyes. He was standing there, dressed in plaid and worn-out jeans, and there were those in their school who thought that him dressing like a slob meant him being vulnerable – an easy prey – and that he should stay down and lick the shoes of his betters, like clothes made the man. She herself used the illusion, hid behind it, and ruled over those who deemed themselves lower than her all by themselves.

They were all wrong.

Lydia had once thought so too. She had hated the sight of him, too strange for her tastes, probably sensing the danger before she could even identify it. They had never really spoken, they were people who shared the space but left each other alone, but even the thought of him being her intellectual rival had made her turn up her nose, scoffing in derision. Him? No, he was nothing. A nobody. He would never be able to beat Lydia Martin, and she wouldn’t even have to fight for her rightful place on the throne for she had champions doing it for her and her wits to keep her far above them all.

Except he watched; he watched and he learnt. His eyes – once thought as dull brown, now they seemed like liquid amber – were always open, seeing everything around them and even things no one else did, even when they were closed. He seemed to know every deepest, darkest secret of those around him, and knew people’s names even before they breathed them out. His was the power of instinct that Lydia had never achieved, and never would, something so ingrained in him that no one ever questioned it anymore.

People had tried to bully him.

No one tried more than once.

For he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and she had heard him howl and seen him prowl, a large distorted image always behind his back, watching, guarding, caressing.

Loving.

But only those deemed worthy and, despite the persistent rumours of those ignorant, Lydia knew she did not belong in that group of people who were offered a haven in the middle of the storm no one could see or feel, not yet, but his eyes told them of the tempest that was brewing and would burn down the world as they knew it.

And now he had chosen to end the silence between them.

“Yes?” she asked, brave in the face of a predator, acknowledging that he was the one to be afraid of even if she was not willing to back down. She was Lydia Martin, the queen of the school, and she was not stupid.

“Do you know of the local legends?”

She blinked, taken aback, but recovered in a fraction of a second.

“Why? Was that an assignment? I haven’t heard of it!” she said, putting on the face of a little girl, as if she wasn’t aware of everything happening inside the school, inside the whole town even.

Except for him. He was always the exception, and she despised it. She hated the way he made her feel small when she was tall; tiny when she was a mountain while others barely reached her roots.

She _resented_ him deeply, with all her heart.

He squinted his eyes at her and his lips twitched, like she was an amusing show on late night telly. She felt her right eyelid twitch, annoyance brewing inside her, and her smile was empty as the bottles inside her mother’s drawers.

“No. I was just wondering if you knew anything about the Hales. As Allison is your best friend, I thought you might have heard of them.”

She suddenly felt wrongfooted. Something she did not know? But-

“Her surname is Argent.”

He gave her a smile. It felt like he was mocking her, although there were no words she could connect to that. It was there, though, and she could feel the assessing look given to her and she felt it double with pressure. She stood her ground and never looked away from his eyes. The pressure turned gentle, almost like a caress filled with wonder, and he breathed-

“So it is.”

He turned away then, ignoring her presence again like no one ever did, like no one ever _could_. She bristled and, suddenly, wanted to call after him and demand what he meant. She was so angry but also dumbfounded by her reaction. Why should she let him have any control over her actions? How did he manage to make her so unbalanced, even with so few words?

She saw him shake his head, and heard him say one word that made her see red.

“ _Mundanes_.”

She watched him go with resentment bubbling inside her and filling her veins from head to toe.

Her name was Lydia Martin.

She was _not-_

She _was_ -

***

Lydia spent the afternoon with Allison. She really enjoyed her time with the girl, although she didn’t offer her much intellectual stimuli. Didn’t really matter, though, as she could find it elsewhere. True, lasting friends were hard to come by, and Allison was definitely one of those.

_Mundane._

Her smile, perfectly painted and red, red like her hair, glorious in its glow, turned a tad forced. They were giggling over the men’s section and their boyfriends – Scott was a little slow and his fashion sense non-existent, he’s waiting for me to be done and we’re going to the cinema, well Jackson’s insecure and always as immaculate as Lydia herself and oh, wasn’t Scott Stiles’ best friend too, and yeah, he is – when she heard it. A howl reverberated through the store, scaring her, making her look around wildly and she felt out of control, she was never _not_ in control, it was impossible-

“Lydia?”

She turned to her friend, looking over at her worried, her brown eyes filled with concern that warmed her beating heart, each one strong and quick, pumping ice and fire in her veins, forceful as her breath.

“Did you hear that?” she asked, eyes searching for escape, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. She was ready, she told herself, and she would take her friend with her. No one would harm her. Allison just looked at her and, slowly, shook her head.

“There was nothing to hear.”

Lydia paused, wondering, scared to admit she might have spoken the truth. “Are you sure?”

Please, let her say she was joking, pulling her leg, tell her she was not serious.

Because Lydia Martin was not crazy.

Allison shook her head again, and pressed her hand against Lydia’s brows. Her touch was warm against her cold, so cold, skin. “Are you alright? Do you think we should go? Maybe have a cup of green tea at that shop you told me about?”

She took a deep breath then, and gathered herself, heartbeat steadying under her control. She smiled, laughing about something inane, and it was all forgotten and, together, they left the store holding hands. Again, she was a force to be reckoned with, a warrioress painted in her colours of triumph and spirit unbent and unbroken.

 _Mundane_.

She would find her answers and show him, perhaps demand them from him.

It was what she deserved, and he would not keep her from figuring things out and leaving this town in the dust. Chained down, she refused to be. She refused, she refused, _she refused_ -

Her grandmother never did.

She felt cold.

And the grip on her tightened again.

***

She did not manage to get Stiles alone despite her plan to intercept him which was very strange for he was always there, she could always see him in the corner of her eye, alone, almost always alone. Still, now, Scott had been with him, a thing that once would not have been weird but nowadays was a miracle, as he had been spending more and more of his time with Allison, forgetting anything and anyone else existed in the world.

Including Stiles.

She scoffed. Love was a blind, chemical reaction. She should be so lucky to never fall as its prey.

But he seemed to have returned, although Stiles seemed to be reserved, waiting, as if looking for signs if he would be left alone again. Lydia could see how it broke Scott’s heart. Allison could see how down it was making her boyfriend and was there to comfort him, offer him kind words, and sending him to battle the walls that had been built in his absence and the army that manned the ramparts.

Lydia could not get him alone but that was alright. She had the clues he had offered her.

The Hales. The Argents.

And she got to work.

***

The Argents originated from France.

They arrived to the New World in the late 18th century as if they were being chased by something, or they were the ones doing the chasing. Lydia could not see which one of it was. The earliest mention of the Argents she could see was a woman called Marie-Jeanne Valet, a huntress of old, who had married to the family. There were no mentions of others, not that seemed relevant anyway, as they were uninteresting, oh yes, barely extras next to a legend.

Because that was what Marie-Jeanne was, a legend.

It wasn’t that she was particularly famous or anything. No, Lydia doubted many had heard of her at all. But she was involved in the myth of the Beast of Gévaudan, a beast so horrible that only a maiden of her skill could destroy with her pure heart. The Beast was something that hunted the innocent of the world – the children and their hearts, they said. It was something so terrifying no one survived against it. It crushed souls of people and hearts of men, drunk in their misery and despair, feasting on their pain.

Marie-Jeanne, a little girl of only sixteen summers, managed to kill it where everyone else failed. She was heralded as a hero but she faded quickly, married in silence, and left France behind before the remains of the Beast was burnt and the souls of all it killed released.

There was no mention of her when the ship arrived to the American soil.

Lydia frowned then, unsure of what to believe. It seemed clear cut, yes it did, but it also felt like she was missing something, something vital and important. She shook her head, and brushed past it, intent on discovering all she could so she could confront Stiles, laugh at his face, and make him kneel before her like he should.

The next mention she found was of one Katherine Argent, a woman of gritty nature but sly as a fox and just as cunning and dangerous. She was the one to start controlling the weapon industry in the west when no one else stood up, laughing in the face of danger, lovers quivering before her and never marrying but no, no one held it against her, no one could, for she would come and dance on their bones while she led an army which stood staunchly behind her as she marched first.

Lydia found her endlessly fascinating. She could not care about the cousins that tried to inch closer to her limelight or the uncles whose disapproval died as they did, before their time. She was a queen in the time where only wildlings lived, and she was glorious.

And that’s when she found the Hales.

At first she could not believe her eyes. The Hales, they were real? She had, at first, tried to search for them but no local or state registry held their names so she was forced to give up on that front. Now, though, she found them, under the name Argent, and just-

Just as Stiles implied.

Lydia’s mouth curved downwards, eyes narrowing, and teeth flashing a brilliant white in the illumination of her nightlight, shaped like a candle, for the aesthetic. What did he want with her friend? Her only true friend who Lydia had shown parts of herself she had never even thought to show someone else. Not even her parents knew, distant as they were, worrying only about their materialistic woes of never having enough, always being behind others, trying to reach heights that did not belong to them. Only her grandmother, brushing her hair, calling her Aibell, was there for her in her first years, crooning her to sleep, before she disappeared from her life. Her mother and father continued to call her by her nickname, thought to be Ariel for her hair, but no-

Aibell.

She dove into the few notes she could find. A tragedy it was, a story where no one survived, burning to death in a house within the woods and no one to call for help, discovered days after the smoke had already faded. They might have been wiped out from the history – once a cornerstone of the community but only ashes in the wind now – if not for one particular detail. One of the men, a decade younger than the magnificent Katherine, was thought to have fallen for her charms and been sweet on her. The story said she had shed a bitter tear the day after, calling for a search for the culprit, but grinning all the while.

Tracks had been found running from the house but none of them belonged to a human. A huge beast it had been, they said, for the print on the ground was the size of a bear or something even larger, running to and from the house time and again until, when tracked till the end, they disappeared on a clearing with a huge stump no one had seen before. A wolf it might have been but it had been too large. There were marks of burn scars in the trees leading to the place, as well as races of ice and rain, and branches cleanly cut from the trees were lining the path. It was during that time that Katherine had taken up her arms, tightened her hold over the hunt, and kept control until her untimely death.

It was said that no one saw a smile on her face after that day, prematurely did her hair grey, and no heirs were left of her direct line.

Katherine died, childless or so they said, but the Argents stayed strong in her memory.

Lydia took one brief look at the picture of Katherine included in the papers she read.

Her features were a picture perfect of Allison’s.

***

She threw her notes at him, at Stiles, and glared. Allison and Scott looked at her shocked but Stiles only waved his hand at them, grabbed the papers, and pulled Lydia away. She did not resist, if only because she wanted answers. They found themselves outside by the lacrosse field, in the last warm breezes of October, but she still felt cold despite the sun kissing her skin and the heat of summer finally ending.

She was quiet, and watched, as Stiles skimmed over her notes, eyes widening when he stopped at her findings about the Hales, particularly at the fire and the aftermath. She felt the heat intensify around them and considered taking off her knit.

“So,” Lydia started, crossing her arms, puffing up her chest just enough that always got people to loosen up and get her words through, either because of their embarrassment or because they heard nothing and agreed mindlessly. But Stiles, he never even lifted his eyes, and when he did, they never strayed from her eyes, staring into them like they were the most fascinating thing in the world, like she was suddenly more open than ever before, like he realised just who she had been _beneath all the_ -

His mouth curved into a smile, bright and happy, and he moved towards her. Before she could do anything at all, he embraced her, fully, completely, devoured her whole. She smelt the faint scent of pine and sandalwood, and felt another presence within his arms. It was strong and loud, like Stiles was marked all over by it, possessed so wholly that there was nothing left for others but scraps and what there had been before whatever had come and stolen him away.

His mouth brushed against her ear and she heard him whisper, light as a feather roaming in the air and playing with its currents.

He let her go and he bounced away, leaving the school without even acknowledging that it was just lunch and there were classes left. She watched him go and shivered as if he took the warmth of summer with him. But no, Stiles was no summer. He wasn’t even what Lydia had thought him to be, cold and dangerous and ready to tear all apart.

He was a predator, there was no doubt about that. But he was no wolf.

And that Lydia was certain of.

He was something far more terrifying.

 _Aibell_.

_“Remember, my little one, that names are important. Guard yours close for that is who you are, for that is what we are, and you should never deny it lest it grows in you and turns into resentment until you cannot feel anything else, nothing at all, and it kills you before you can flourish. But! There may one day be someone who will give it all to you back. That day may never come and then you will have to pass it on, pass the name on, for it is the only way. But if, just if, there is, then-”_

Then that person may be able to unseal your soul and unleash all that potential inside you.

“For only then, we are truly free,” she whispered, wind stealing her words, clouds hiding her from sight.

She touched her chest and, for the first time ever, she felt the chains inside her ease just a bit.

***

“We are going shopping and you cannot say no.”

Stiles blinked rapidly, composure falling. He flailed so hard Scott had to move away not to get hit, looking like he was waiting for the opportunity to help his friend regain his balance. He looked in askance at his girlfriend but Allison just shrugged, just as confused as he was.

Lydia waited for Stiles to stop spluttering nonsense, grabbed him by his sleeve, and started dragging him out. Jackson was looking at her like she had gone mad and maybe she had. It was not like she had been Stiles’ greatest fan a mere week ago, but now-

She wanted to know. She was dying if she could not figure him out. She had never even breathed the grandmother’s nickname to anyone, hadn’t even known Stiles when she had still been around, and all the time he spent looking at her hair, so convinced it was a flowing silver river when it clearly was not-

She needed to know.

Lydia turned her nose at the looks given to her – an off-day could be explained in case it was needed, but she had cemented her place well – and flipped her hair casually, playing up her role as the queen made of fashion and ice.

“I am not stepping a toe inside your jeep nor sitting on those filthy seats,” she said and ignored the protests Stiles spouted, “So we are taking my car that actually stands to be in the light of the day. If you insist, I am sure I can be generous enough to drop you back in case you do not irritate me too much. I would suggest you obey.”

Stiles continued complaining.

She gave him the coldest look she had in her arsenal, locking her eyes on his, letting him feel the pressure that came with her, unafraid of baring her soul to him.

He stopped mid-sentence and followed her obediently after.

When she turned around again, she wondered what he had seen in her now.

Allison and Scott followed them, climbing to the backseat and then they were off. She drove to the mall, dragging them all around it for hours, watching them interact and watching Stiles, especially. She even bought him jeans that brought out his bottom, something that she could actually appreciate now. He wasn’t toned like Scott was, who was surprisingly in shape despite being a severe asthmatic and allergic to sports, but he had that leanness and corded muscle that could be mistaken for a runner’s.

He also asked her help in picking up a few classier shirts that favoured V-necks. They were for a friend, he said, running his hand through his hair, messing it up more than it already was. I want to surprise him, he said.

She bought him them too, using her father’s credit card without a care. It was not like he cared with all those socialites and mistresses to please.

She could see nothing amiss in his behaviour, however. He was reserved a little, yes, but nothing that would cause much to worry. His expression had brightened when he got his hands on the classier shirts for his friend, insisting on paying back.

She asked him to tell her what he saw.

He said, “You know it already.”

Lydia touched her throat, and was silent.

 _Aibell_.

She was about to ask him more, about the Hales, about the Argents, about why they were so important, why did he seek contact-

But the store had caught fire.

It was surrounding Scott and Allison, with Scott gasping for breath and Allison trying to find a way out. Stiles rushed in, bursting past the flames, uncaring of the damage it might have caused him, and yelled for them to-

“Get out! Get out of here now! Derek!”

Lydia clutched at their bags and watched the scene unfold as the sprinkles burst into a rain over them, washing over the flames, rushing down like rivers. The fire seemed to weaken but not because of the water – no, it was moving away, outside, like escaping.

Derek.

Allison held the inhaler over Scott’s mouth and he slowly got his breath under control, Stiles watching over them, like he was shielding them from something no one could see.

Her eyes widened.

Derek, he had yelled.

The Hales, he had searched.

 _Derek Hale_.

They left.

The next day, Stiles didn’t come to school.

***

Lydia rang the doorbell, waiting for someone to answer. She knew he was home for the jeep was there, there was a light upstairs and noise inside. She heard his voice, Stiles’ voice, as if he was having a conversation but no one ever answered him but one voice in a discussion meant for many.

All fell silent when the bell rang through the house.

The door opened and inside the hallway stood a man. He was older, maybe in his early thirties, and wore one of those shirts Lydia had recommended and finally bought for Stiles.

For him.

But the revelation paled in contrast to the look on the man’s face and the spirit of the wolf surrounding him. It was the same aura that had haunted Stiles for years, still fell in step with him, but this one had a body of its own and that was far more horrifying to realise. But not as terrifying as to see how-

“You are not supposed to be alive,” she whispered, hands clapping over her mouth, words out before she had realised she had spoken.

The mouth fell into a smirk, sly and with teeth peeking from the corner.

“That can be argued.”

“Are you Derek?”

The man looked amused, opening the door wide and waited until she stepped in to answer.

“No. I am his uncle, Peter.”

They walked upstairs, Peter stalking behind her barely a step, and arrived to a room where she simultaneously felt hot and humid. Her skin sparked and she could have sworn her hair curled just a little bit more than it usually did like there was electricity in the air.

She raised her eyes and met the amber that hid secrets, revelations, things she wanted to know and understand and craved to be part of and she could not comprehend why but she did, she did, and she did not care.

She didn’t care about Jackson.

She didn’t care about being queen.

She didn’t care about the miserable life she had.

“I scream,” she said.

“You do,” Stiles admitted. He held a book for her, old and musty, one that was almost falling apart, opened on a page that ended with no conclusion. “This is in Archaic Latin. Can you read it?”

She had never seen the language before.

“It is dead,” she said.

“Please.”

She took it and looked at the page, words clear to her as if she was reading English.

She read.

 

_The Druid called for a Power that was, tricked the Trickster, held Him down, bound Him to eternity._

_Eight pillars there were to stand, eight pillars to create the world._

_Fear drove the need, Despair fed it, Anger burnt it, Hate strengthened it._

_All will be left behind, the Druid said, warned, but it was a small price to pay._

_I and my comrades, the Council of Ours, together, decided for us all._

_We cut the Power down._

_And us with it._

_And gladly, we fell._

_For the Blood that bound us is no more, the Heart that broke us is no more, the Sensations that held us their slaves is no more._

_And what is done cannot be undone, for the Sacrifice was complete and the Door forever closed._

_There is no one to cry for us now._

_Eight pillars, blood removed, guardian standing._

_Long Live the Veil._

 

She raised her eyes again, looking around the room for the first time. She could see her notes on the wall, part of something elaborate, things written in blood, things long-forgotten and never resolved. She did not see anyone but Peter and Stiles who were now standing next to each other, shoulders touching, seeking comfort and reassurance but she was sure they were not alone. Their expressions, despite the words she read being confident in their victory, were determined and joyful, like they knew that they could overcome anything.

She had never felt thirst until she met them.

“Will you take me with you?” she asked.

“Why?” he countered. He wasn’t denying her, she knew, but he wanted to know whether she was sure of what she wanted. One last way out, although it was more of a courtesy.

She did.

She was already a casualty, part of this all, had been since-

_Aibell._

“Because I scream,” she said again, like it explained it all. And it did.

She was the cry in the night, the harbinger of the end.

She was the one to demand justice, doom, rebirth.

She was the one who walked before death.

Stiles nodded. Peter’s arm curled around him and, together, they were one.

“Samhain. In the preserve. You will know where to go.”

She let him find the affirmation in her eyes – what do you see, she wanted to ask, tell me of the silver, of all that is hidden, of all I want to yell at the world, of what was, is and will be – and left.

She would be there.

Lydia walked, steady, calm. She let her feet take her to where she was needed, where she was supposed to go. She would be waiting.

In her heart, she was already there.

Unchained.

Free.

_Finally._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are rolling, I am excited~


	5. Laura

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I'm a little behind on all my schedules, and this too, a little. Oh well. Laura just wouldn't cooperate! But yeah, thanks for the lovely comments, thoughtful discussions and the marriage proposal, haha, the winter cold hasn't been bothering me at all this week!

Laura was mad. She had seen her uncle, taking the side of a Spark. A Spark! What did he think he was? He had taken up with a human, a prey, something to consume whole and leave nothing behind for they were barely worth the glance given to them. She could not understand. It would have been his ticket to elevate himself above his pitiful place but no. Instead of being a monster the Hales could be proud of, he had chosen to grovel before a lesser being.

And he had called her, _her_ , her mother, along with using her name. Even the _Spark_ had used _her_ _name_. Her spirit stung with the disrespect she did not deserve. How dare he? How dare they, the both of them?! It was not his to give away but hers! Only hers, and she had never given it to anyone but her siblings - although she had demanded it was never used, not yet -, never to anyone else, not even-

Not even her mother, not to her uncle, the rotten scoundrel that he was, a pitiful being that should have just faded away if he decided to pay back the things the Hales had given him, his life and energy, his place in the world, like this.

Ungrateful, he was, and she did not feel charitable. She had, admittedly, lost her temper when her name had been thrown against her face, when she had been accused of being something she was not; implied that she, perhaps, was less than she truly was.

Her name was Laura, and she was proud of it.

She was not her mother; cold and destroying all on her way with barely a thought spent on them, uncaring of the others, looking down on those below her, as she knew she was strong and elite amongst the riffraff.

No, she was not her mother; she was something even greater.

Soon would come the time everyone would praise her name above all others, rising from the ashes, like a phoenix.

Laura was the wind, and she was free. She always would be. She was the pride of the Hales, proud to be called that, but she did not care to chafe under anyone’s rule. She was not the ice that held the clan together, the frozen blood in their veins dragging them down, but she was the air they breathed, the one who would bring the clan into the power they deserved, away from the place they had been stuck in since forever and ever, for her mother-

Nay, only a fool would call her a picture of Talia.

And it seemed her uncle was just that.

A pity.

***

Listen to us, please! Mistress, hear us, listen, our kind mistress, the one we follow, the only one we ever will, please, listen, you need to listen-

***

She flew. She flew so far that she could barely hear the whispers of the news her winds brought her, spied for her, telling her of her fire brother’s stalks, her storm sister’s careless anger, her mother’s silent vigil in her garden, all the secrets their world had, they were all within her reach, even her uncle’s-

Laura came to a halt, high up in the air, so high that everything else was barely like ants under her gaze. She watched the metal contraption called a plane fly by her, heading towards north, and almost absently she threw a mild torrent to torment the humans, causing the plane to wobble, drinking in the delicious bursts of anxiety, fear and terror that arose from the younglings, with experienced easy avoiding the bitter taste of the adults.

She dove then, rushing down like no other, hearing the singing notes of the wind, telling her of an anomaly walking in the woods, alone, affected by everything and nothing and completely like no other. The air spirits flew with her, the dragons followed her around, the fairies welcomed her.

She was a monster but she was one with them too.

Her kin did not end with the Hales but they extended to the beings of air, from the birds to the spirits to the dragons, all those who called air their home. Her power even reached over those she had no kinship with, just for the fact that they wanted someone to guide them, for the reason that no one heard them but her. She had many a times wondered whether her fire brother and her storm sister could interact with their corresponding spirits but she had not caught them doing so yet. There were no whispers, no signs of familiarity with them, just an emptiness around them the way it never was whenever Laura was by herself. She was never alone, always with someone following her footsteps, weaving her hair into elaborate twists, turning her into their leader for wars never realised.

Not yet, anyway.

She had never told her mother that.

She had never told anyone that.

Not a soul, not a person, not a whisper or a breath, for this was her little secret, her little slave.

She was special, and she knew it. Her fire brother knew it. Her storm sister knew it. Her uncle knew it, even as he despised her, for she was powerful, for she was better than he ever could be, for he was the dust underneath her feet. Even her mother knew it, her potential bright, taking her with her into the meetings her siblings never got into, for her mother was both proud of her and afraid of what she could become. Her mother was always trying to temper her, coach her to be like her, to be like one of the members of the Council, become like one of them, set in their ways and rules so strict Laura hardly ever felt she had enough air to breathe within the reach of the Council.

She refused to give up that spark that resided in herself, the little bit that made her the leader she was born to be. Perhaps her mother wished her to take after them all and none at all at the same time but what she yearned for was for Laura to be tied down like the winds never were.

Like the storms never were, like the fires never were, oh mother, your children are not made of ice, we are meant to be free, free, can you not see how you are destroying us-

Laura stopped then, listening to her spirits. Come here, they called her, witness this, hear us, listen to us, come, come, come, this is important, firefirefirefireangersilverdruiddespaircomecomecome-

She hovered lightly, curious, letting the creatures of air lead her along. The woods parted before her and she came face to face with a human child, a male one, who faintly smelled like the _Spark_.

She hissed, anger biting into her core, quick and strong, and she let her winds wound around the human, squeezing, taking hold of its throat and stealing its breathe away. A moment of madness caught her. Maybe she could punish the Spark for calling her by her name, maybe she should take whoever this human was away from it, and make it suffersuffer _suffer_ -

The human choked silently, hands meeting its neck, eyes empty as they came and mouth open. Its hair was curled and its jaw crooked, clothes rumpled and appearance death-like, pale underneath the tan of its skin. It could not breath under her grip but it did not act like it was dying. No, it was watching her with that empty gaze, unnerving her, making her skin crawl.

The Void, it was _the Void_ , it was everything and _nothing at the same time_ -

She let go.

The human breathed then, once, twice, thrice, and turned away from her, continuing its trek in the brush like she was never there. It did not seem to care about her at all, and Laura followed it, wondering about the way how her spirits stayed away, never coming a hundred feet closer to it, preferring to stay away.

She noted the weird breathing pattern on it and, oh, it was asleep. It was walking in its sleep and it still remained tied to its dreams and it-

It arrived to a tree stump in the middle of a clearing and Laura had never seen or felt anything like it before. It made her uneasy, unlike anything had ever done, and it slightly reminded her of the human and the Void around it.

The human stood before the stump, never moving, like it was trying to connect with it but could not, like there was a wall between it and the remains of the tree. No expression was on the human’s face but there was something about it that screamed of despair and need, of desire and hunger, of wanting to belong-

Laura heard the call of her spirits, telling her about the depths her fire brother had fallen into. She left then, leaving her spirits to look after the human, still curious of what its mission was.

Later, after witnessing the abnormality of her fire brother and stroppiness of her storm sister, alone again, resting in the dark, she listened to the wind for the updates on her allies and subordinates and enemies alike.

Her brother had been visiting her uncle, and something there had caused his fit.

Her sister had left, intent on uncovering whatever that was.

Her mother was absent, uncaring, sitting in her garden of ice.

The human had done nothing.

And her uncle and the Spark had done everything.

Laura floated, eyes fixed on the darkness above her, below her, around her.

She called her army, and got to work.

***

Did you see it, you did, you saw it too, it is the key, we need it, it will destroy everything, oh, we want it, it will be glorious, can you see it, mistress, mistress, oh, oh, oh-

***

Under the disguise of harassing her uncle and the Spark, she observed them closely. She noticed her fire brother’s reluctance to help and her storm sister’s increasingly annoyed expressions. She bothered them both, curling her invisible tendrils around their throats, squeezing them until they left marks of possession that would quickly fade but leave invisible marks of ownership.

Hers, they were. Her siblings. Her _assets_. Her fire and lightning, things she called her own. The monsters always called her mother as the leader of the Hales but Laura was sure that if it came down to it, the three of them could melt her ice and overthrow her, with Laura in the front and her siblings as her loyal vassals-

Nay, quiet your mind, never let your ambition bleed through.

There are eyes everywhere, shadows everywhere, and with them Deucalion and with him her mother. She was not strong enough, not yet. Her army was growing but it was still too weak to act, for spirits, sprites and nymphs were built different from monsters, tempered where others were wild, but also a true calm before a storm. Soon she could pick the fruit of her labour but the moment was not there yet.

Soon, but not yet.

She wished she had an ally to confide with but no, there was none she could trust to keep the secret. Her siblings, while powerful, were unobservant and too close to the danger. Most monsters were too weak or in the Council’s thrall. If she could, she would ask alliance from the elusive Nogitsune, the only one who could rival the shadow master and would be able to squish him like the overconfident bug he was, but the great trickster had not been seen for years and years and years. There were rumours flying around the only kitsune possessing all nine tails but none of them were ever confirmed, least of his location. And Laura had tried, oh, she had tried so hard, even sent her sprites on a journey in the human world, scoured the Veil herself, but it was all for naught.

If only she could get a hold of the greatest of kitsune and convince him of her cause-

She perked up when one of her spirits flew around her, hair caressing her bare skin, and Laura stayed quiet as the words reached her. Her fire brother had defected over to her uncle’s side. For what reason, she could not figure out, but for the moment she decided to let him be. He had been acting strange, so strange that she could not understand him anymore. For eternity and longer, he had been silent and absent, different from their mother but the same too, as if he could not feel the satisfaction brought by drinking in the despair around them and the victorious feeling after destroying the will to live of those humans with so much to live for.

She needed to observe him to see where he fell on her plans now.

Laura felt her mother call, and she answered. She left her storm sibling to stand guard, caressing her throat, and the Veil welcomed her as she crossed over, leaving her army behind, acting as the closest confidante her mother wanted and needed, something she thought she had built but what was nothing but a carefully constructed front.

She met her mother in her shrine of ice, cold and slippery and beautiful not unlike death itself. She let her mouth curve in a grin she had learnt from her allies, over the years of watching them interact, the way she had imitated their movements until they became natural, a second skin. She had gained their trust, their allegiance, their everything-

A queen she was, in the middle of her servants.

But, she would now have to curb down her ambitions over the legacy that belonged to her, the legacy which was malnourished under her mother’s cold hands as she only cultivated the ice that surrounded their base as if it was a wall against the world within and on the other side of the Veil.

As if she was afraid of something.

Laura watched as her mother stood, her back against her, and spoke.

“You called for me.”

Her mother’s head lifted, staring at the darkness above them.

“I have not seen your siblings in a while.”

You would if you ever stepped outside for anything but the gatherings, you would if you ever called for them, Laura thought to herself, squishing it immediately as she saw her mother tense. She was not a telepath, no; that honour was lost somewhere in time, no one in living memory possessing the skill. What her mother had was the mind that reminded Laura of her uncle – always wary, always expecting the worst-

But never seeing immediately under her eyes where the real viper hid, discontent with the eternal winter and the existence without changes. Hateful that her true allies could never cross the world with her.

She had no power here.

She _resented_ it.

“They are beyond the Veil,” she just answered, calm, collected, obedient – the perfect daughter.

“My brother must be giving you quite a bit of trouble,” her mother said.

“He is bitter,” she said, leaving the words in the air. He was, he was so bitter, and hateful, towards Laura, towards Talia, towards them all, but also so, so different from what he used to be, influenced, must be the Spark, had to be the Spark-

“Deucalion was right then.”

Laura said nothing. Everyone, every monster, knew about the story of her uncle missing out on a Spark, losing against a monster greater than he was, but having seen him now, she couldn’t help but wonder if that had been deliberate.

Had she found a prey like the Spark before, so bright and delicious, she would have let a lesser treat go as well. Even if he did not eat it.

What a waste.

She remembered the first time she had seen her uncle in over a decade, and the way she had yelled at him, saying she would tell her mother about him, thinking that the Spark had him on a leash. And it did, so it seemed, although her uncle did not seem to mind the more she saw of them. They interacted different, like there was trust between them, something Laura had not thought her uncle was capable of.

And it made her wonder what the Spark was capable of too.

She had told her mother about him, though, as her first loyalty was always to the clan – and herself, although she did not mention the Spark for she knew it would be devoured under her nose otherwise. She was the heir, she was the future, and she had to think of her people, her siblings, _her_ first, for if she did not then no one would. She would make sure the Hales would rise from the slump they had fallen to, the grave they were digging. It was not their destiny.

Even if it meant keeping secrets, keeping the Spark hidden, so that at the most opportune moment she would, perhaps, be able to just _take it and_ -

“I want you to keep your eyes on him,” her mother said finally, hands creating roses made of snow in the air. “I want you to tell me when he makes his move.”

“Move, mother?” Laura asked, confusion colouring her voice, and this time she did not need to fake a thing. This was the first time she had ever heard of such a plan.

“Move against us, daughter. Move against me,” her mother whispered. “It is coming. I can feel it. He never was satisfied with the way the world should be, the way we should be. Even with everything locked and the keys lost, he is breaking in. A threat, he is, to everything we are.”

The air was freezing and Laura could feel her skin turn blue.

“And all our hard work will be gone with the wind, burnt down by the flames of the past that still haunt us, washed away by the waters and, finally, destroyed we will be,” her mother ended tiredly, temperature dropping until Laura couldn’t feel her toes and her hair was turning white from its usual dark.

She bowed, and left, and her silence spoke volumes.

She did not turn around but she was sure her mother did not either and so she left her to stand there in melancholy Laura did not understand, with the words she had never heard before, meaning lost in time.

It felt like she should know what her mother had been talking about but she did not.

And it worried her.

She walked through the air and whispered to her winds, her spirits and sprites, even those not of her element, urging them to share their secrets, anxious to hear what they had to say.

“ _Tell me,_ ” she commanded and the anxiety she had never seen in their faces before melted away as she opened her eyes and ears for them and-

They did.

***

She listened to us, finally, she is here with us, truly, oh the day has come, the day has arrived, the fire will be stopped, the pain will be over, we can be all free soon, together again, the day has come, the day is coming, the moment is here-

***

She snuck into the house her uncle resided in with the Spark, the place her fire brother – her vassal, he was supposed to be _hers_ – had taken refuge for reasons unknown. Her storm sister, also mysteriously gone from their side of the Veil, had left traces of having been inside the room. Those two, they were hers, damned it all, her siblings were _hers_ , first and foremost. She looked around. This had to be the Spark’s room. It was saturated with its presence, with its scent, and Laura could not understand how it had remained a secret for so long.

How had her uncle done it? And it had to be him, there was no other way. Even if akin to the dust under her feet, he was still her uncle, a Hale, someone to be feared of and respected even if by association and-

And despite everything, despite her distaste for him, her uncle was more than just the name of Hale.

Another human was inside, though, and it reeked of the Spark too. Her fingers twitched but she stayed her hand, for she knew someone would come after her if she harmed it. Laura watched as it took notice of the wall there and she blinked, curious, seeing herself there with her clan in the midst of all the coloured strings.

She floated there, leaning over the human. Her eyes flicked from her clan to the Silver clan and her mouth twisted into a snarl, the words of her spirits’ echoing in her ears. She barely realised the human leaving as she looked at the clan that had, that had-

 _Destroyed them all_.

She noticed the Void boy connected to one of the Silver pictures and growled.

She should have killed it in the woods.

Her eyes turned to the Silver girl connected to it. Alive, it had to be.

Answers, Laura had come here for.

Maybe she should start with it.

***

Oh, innocents may be caught in the crossfire but they are like cockroaches, we just want to be free, we are air, we are water, we are fire, we are earth, we are all and everything but we are not free, please, let us be free, let us not be hunted anymore, mistress-

***

Laura stalked the town, searching for the Silver girl, curious with deadly intent. Revenge, she was thinking of revenge, _oh_ she needed, she needed to feel the blood flow between her fingers, she wanted to paint the walls with it, she had to, _she had to, couldn’t you see, it was necessary_ -

She found her with the Void boy, with the Spark and with her uncle and fire brother and one more human, another girl, who seemed like _danger_.

She could not advance.

Perhaps for the best.

There was even a wall there that made it impossible for her to even come truly close. It was then she noticed it – the necklace on her neck.

The same necklace that had been on the older Silver woman’s neck in the picture older than the others.

 _Hunters_.

Fine, she ground her teeth, feeling her hate bubble inside her.

Fine, she thought and twisted away, rushing out before she could be sensed.

They were there, still there, and Laura knew she would just have to get even stronger, find a way to turn the situation upside down, destroy the incompetent and crown herself in their stead, for she was the only one who could answer the threat that still lingered.

And she just knew what to do.

***

Oh, she is magnificent, she is ours, mistress, take care of it for us, we implore you, stop the fire, stop the ritual, stop what is needed, take it down, take it down, _take it down_ -

***

Despite her words of reassurance, alternative facts as one might say – no lies, just slightly misleading, she was loyal to the name Hale and she was a Hale, her loyalty was to herself and those who were to her –, her mother was growing more and more suspicious by day. Laura was sure that she was meeting with the Council even without her presence there, and that in turn made Laura warier of her mother too, and the cycle continued, it was there, and it would not disappear.

It made her anxious.

But it also made her resolve steel, and find her place before those of lower worth. There was little time to form a coup to overthrow the Council but she had been thinking, planning really, for it for years in secret, in the shadows that did not belong to Deucalion, carefully hiding her ambitions.

And now? Now was the perfect time to act on it.

***

It’s coming, it’s coming, mistress of air, please, lead us home, help us through it, you are the only one still hearing us, all can see us but no one listens or all can hear us but no one sees, listen to us, mistress, see us, mistress, we need your guidance, we need your strength-

***

And listen to her spirits she did. She did not care for their plight, not really, but she did what she had to gain their lasting allegiance, coo over their hurts, even though they were just a means to an end for her. They were barely a step for her for a long time but, now, they were a force to be reckoned and Laura was especially invested and all that was because, _because_ , she knew what her uncle was planning. She did not know why but she knew her little slaves would never deceive her, were under her allure, and they had told her of his plans to take down the Veil.

And Laura thought it was a magnificent idea.

She would not stop him. No, why would she? She was not her mother who hid when things got desperate. No, she was the one who run and fought, bloody and victorious for her strength and courage. And while her army could not cross the Veil, well, if there was no Veil, then it would be a moot point anyway. The Council had been in power for too long, it had lost its touch on reality, and Laura was the one who would correct them, overthrow the powers, and place herself on the throne in their stead.

And she was prepared to execute her plans.

She was the one who could, who would, give them what they craved.

Freedom.

Because that was what they lacked, what the monsters so desperately needed, hidden behind the Veil, following rules never explained, minds numbed and wills destroyed, lost in the dark. And then there was her army who were confined on the other side, forever trapped with the humans, separated from the powerful, weak because of that.

Oh, the discontent was truly delicious.

It was too bad her siblings hadn’t seen the light yet but she would show them of their error soon enough, see them fall in line behind her, and everything would be as she had imagined.

***

Oh, our mistress, you were once so kind, what happened, you cared for us, you still care, it is all locked down, the fire, the Veil, the Silver people, the misguided druids, oh, the fear, the despair, it all came down to this, it was all lost, but now, soon, we can all be together again-

***

Her winds brought her news, her spirits gave her life.

A heart.

Her uncle had a heart.

And he shared it with the Spark.

She mused on the fact while counting at her forces. They grew by each day, faster and faster and faster. The long years of acting as the prodigal daughter, exalted and revered and different from the rest, was finally coming through. Acting as though her force’s plight was also hers was, well, ridiculous, but so, so worth it. They all flocked to her, air, fire, earth, water, lightning, all the elements, all the creatures locked powerless and invisible on the other side, the human side. Monsters, no, she would not even try to convert them; the Council had them too strongly in their leashes. But these, oh, they thought they were worthless but Laura saw their worth, she was the only one they came truly near, the one they _trusted_ , ha! She had obeyed her mother, seemingly at least, told her of how her uncle was planning something, weaving tales of how there could be a war, a fight, fabricated stories brought to her by her winds, how they might need to cross the Veil in order to stop him-

Which would be when Laura would strike.

Laura, she could hear them call for her, Laura, Laura, Laura.

But, a heart. Her uncle had a heart.

And Laura knew, she knew, that her fire brother would want to have one of those. Her brother was strong but he was also weak, a conundrum, having the worst of both sides – or was it the best? Worst in her mind –  and his powers were great but only when he was stable, able to control them, able to stand behind her and act as her vassal. And he was not, not really, not since-

Not since seeing her uncle, seeing him act so different, being so different, being so steady on his feet, because of the heart.

And her brother craved a balance of that kind.

Her storm sister, well, she could understand. While Laura had been cultivating her army – alone because they would stay away when others were around, oh, what little frightened creatures, but they would obey her orders, she knew, they were under her spell – and ambitions, playing the game with her mother, her siblings had been left alone. She could understand that her sister might want to be loyal to her brother.

She would just have to convince them-

She came to a halt, hand curled in the air. No.

Maybe, just maybe, it was better this way.

This way, when they would see their error, they would decide she was the superior one, and they would come back with their tails between their legs, ready to swear fealty to her. And then, then, she would take them back, be the understanding leader she was, and they would offer their necks to her like they should. And, together, they would rise above them all and would stand as her right hand and left hand for all eternity.

And when she was the strongest, when she had all in place, she no longer needed to convince anyone for they would beg for her mercy.

And with the Veil lifted, well-

Only the sky was the limit and Laura was the master of it already.

***

It is coming, it is coming, it is coming, _the Void is coming_ -

***

“You called her name.”

Laura turned around, unsurprised, as her uncle stepped next to her, her spirits having whispered his arrival to her long before he was even close. She nodded.

“I did. It was the only way for her to run before Deucalion’s shadows caught her.”

She had long since learnt the difference between the dark and him but it was a near thing, the reason she never tried anything behind the Veil. Her storm sister was quick and foolish and strong but, oh, so easy to control in the end and she was no match for him, even Laura was not match for him, not alone.

He was _everywhere_ , and had only grown stronger with the Spark he ate a decade or so ago.

“Are you on our side, then?”

Laura arched her brows, tilting her head.

“And what is that side?”

“Stiles. Mine. I assume you know what _we_ want.”

“To tear down the Veil.”

Her uncle’s lips curved, showing a smirk, silently lording over the fact most of the Hales were on his side. Laura huffed.

“I know your plans,” she said, tossing her hair. “But my plans are my own. I will keep out of yours if you keep out of mine.”

And use you as a bait, uncle, for you have thrown away the name Hale and I owe you nothing, nothing at all, you are nothing to me and when my siblings see the same as I do-

“And what are yours?” he asked. She turned around again, showing her back to him, showing how little of a threat she thought him of. She heard him growl but it was startled to end. She shot him a grin over her shoulder, one carefully practiced before the waters.

Her spirits, those who always avoided the monsters, stood there between them, covering for her.

She had been right, had been correct to bet her all on them.

She had already won.

“I assume you know what I want,” she threw his words back to him.

Her uncle nodded slowly, eyes on the spirits, contemplative look on his face.

She knew what was going on his head, for she had heard her winds tell her of all his secrets.

The Spark and its Beast.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

“Samhain.”

“I will be there.”

Ready for the battle, she did not say but her uncle still heard it.

She left with newly found alliance in tow, the one where she held all the strings to and, oh, the terror would be delicious when they realised what she really wanted.

***

Laura never saw her uncle’s sharp grin and never heard his howl of triumph.

***

“I will join you.”

Laura turned around, watching as her storm sister flitted in, seeing her look at her warily.

She grinned, practice making the motion effortless, helping to create the uneasy atmosphere amongst monsters whenever she did. “I did tell you I would come for you all.”

And now you have come, my bet worked, you have arrived by my side, my vassal, my storm sister, my left hand-

Her sister looked unimpressed. “My brother will stay there, with Stiles and Peter.”

Stiles and Peter. The Spark and their uncle.

Laura mused over the names, and made a quick decision.

“Call me Laura.”

She floated away, letting her sister take in her words in shock, before appearing beside her in a snap, begging for an explanation she was not kind enough to give.

She was not sure what the future would bring but one thing was certain.

Laura grinned, slowly, deeply, widely.

It was time to start a revolution.

And the key was right there, right inside the woods.

She opened her arms and her army swarmed the grounds.

Glory waited for the bold, the strong, and the wise, and Laura was all three of them. She had her sister by her side, her brother behind her with her uncle and his Spark but he would come to her soon enough when he realised how futile his efforts were. She had her spirits at arms, her creatures listening to her every whim.

She grinned, sharp, dark, dangerous.

 _Let them come_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finale, finale~
> 
> Also, you probably already know who is next <3
> 
> Just out of curiousity, does it seem like I treat Scott as a bad person/friend here? I mean, I haven't got to his POV yet, so I can't say much about him or his kind of absentee behaviour (even if there are hints about that ;D) but I thought I would ask. Mind you, with Peter around and everything building up, Stiles hasn't exactly been the model friend either.
> 
> See you next week, hopefully!


	6. Scott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Scott. I hope I captured the essence of his character although - naturally - he is bound to be different from canon, as are the rest of the cast. Some of his absentee behaviour is explained here, some is implied. This is definitely one of my favourite chapters written for this series yet.

Scott dreamed.

He had been young, so young when his family had moved to Beacon Hills and it almost felt like it had been fate – _his_ fate – to end up at the small town. He had met his best friend, his only ally for so long, and that had been enough to weather through the storms of his life, short as it still might have been, and to start over at the new place. They were both a little strange in the eyes of the others. Scott was an unathletic asthmatic, barely a hair away from the edge that could steal his breath away and end him, and then there was Stiles, who was something more than life, something no one could truly see behind all the schemes and words used as a shield and as deterrence. Together, they made quite a pair; together, they were invincible. He told Scott tales of what he could see around them, all the creatures and spirits and his mom was the coolest ever – although not as cool as Scott’s own, of course. He had always wanted to see the same things Stiles always spoke about, what he pointed at, the things they hunted and ran after but-

But it was not meant to be.

So, he dreamed of them instead, ran freely without his breath ever catching, wishing they were reality both awake and asleep, until this new kind of dream had taken over. Now, instead of everything bright and fanciful, he dreamed about the woods of the preserve, about the world that began and ended with silence and where there was no one else but him – him and the whispers inside his head.

It was the same dream over and over again. It had started with the haunting whispers when he was young, only hearing them in the background while he slumbered, but they had grown stronger until, sometimes, Scott could hear them when he was awake too. But in the dream, in this new one – no longer new, just there, always there, even while his eyes were open and he was surrounded by people – he was always in the woods, walking towards something that lingered in the middle of it. He knew it was there, it was calling him, it _needed him_ -

But he could never reach it.

And then, when he woke up, his feet would be green and he could smell the wet grass and the dew drops on him and there was a heavy thing inside his chest that felt like disappointment and grief that was older than he.

And he wondered.

***

He didn’t know when it started. When he was young, he was happy to be with Stiles. They rarely played with the other kids but sometimes they did. It was always fun with and without them, but there was no question that he had the most fun with Stiles. There was no laughter nor adventure without him being there, no sense of might and magic. He was there when Scott’s father left him, and he was there when Stiles’ mom left him, even if the circumstances were different and because of them too. At some point, though, it started to feel like Stiles’ attention was elsewhere and he was, at times, leaving Scott alone to play with Peter.

Peter. The weird stuffed animal.

It wasn’t like Scott had anything against it. It was a little strange toy but Scott had things he treasured too, and he knew that Peter was something Stiles had gotten from his mother so he understood the tie to it, the need to sometimes just _be_ when the walls closed themselves around him. It was a feeling he was familiar with too. But Scott, well, he was still lonely. He couldn’t help but wonder what was so wrong with him that made the others of their age group dismiss him so easily. He longed for attention. He had Stiles, yeah, but Stiles had Peter too – and with how Stiles talked about him sometimes, it felt like Peter was a person and not merely a toy – and he had his dad. Scott had his mom but his mom had to work a lot so they would have money to live, and for Scott to be a kid just a little bit longer. He loved his mother and how she cared about him, sacrificed her life so he could have it just a little bit better. And that meant that they didn’t see each other too much.

It was alright. Scott understood.

But he was still lonely.

And then there were the whispers that told him to stay away from the Spark, from _Stiles_ , and how he would drive Scott off the edge and that he would be the end of his life. It told him how he would be the reason his mother would cry and cry _and cry_ until there was nothing left but a lonely husk that would fade away, possibly, probably – _definitely, certainly_ – and how all that would happen if Scott continued to be with him, spend his time with him, breathe the same air as him.

He ignored the voice, of course. Stiles was his best friend. He would never give him up, not for anything. They were two sides of the same coin, almost, so their mothers had laughed together when things had still been perfect and families unbroken because Scott and Stiles? They were similar yet the opposite, cut from the same tree but grown in different direction, like those trees that shared their roots but had their trunks grown as separate.

Besides, it was more likely that he would die of an asthma attack than anything else. It was more likely that it would be him who would be the husk than anyone else. It was a little sad to think of, and Scott fought against it every day, but it was the truth. He had accepted it but he still strove to be better than his disability. He had dreams, things he wanted to achieve, such as being able to play sports on a team, maybe lacrosse since it was the favourite sports of the town, at least once, but what he wouldn’t do to be one of the first stringers…

What he wouldn’t do to be acknowledged.

Maybe then, if he had been – if he _was_ – just a tiny bit better, his father wouldn’t have left them and his mother didn’t have to work as much and Stiles wouldn’t have to make so much effort to make sure Scott wouldn’t have an attack in the middle of a day, maybe he wouldn’t have to tie his friend to himself so tightly, he didn’t want any of them to get bored of him, think of him as a burden-

Everything would, of course, be even more fun with Stiles, especially sports, but Stiles wasn’t interested in lacrosse and Scott wouldn’t make him do it with him. Besides, they had their own things too. Stiles had Peter. Scott could have lacrosse, right?

The whispers quietened a little when he took part in the try-outs. They seemed satisfied for some reason.

Scott didn’t care.

He played as hard as he could, wheezing when he was knocked down, but he pushed up every time it happened. Over and over again. Until he no longer could.

He didn’t get in.

He still puffed up with pride, even if he had failed badly enough that he had to have been taken to the school nurse in the middle of it all, but Stiles still cheered for him from the sidelines and he still had tried for the team. He knew where he stood now. It felt good. He knew he could improve, probably, certainly. He wouldn’t let anything hold him back, not even his asthma.

He was happy, Stiles was happy and everyone was happy.

No, it didn’t feel good.

It felt great.

_(Things would be even better if you left the Spark.)_

His smile turned a tad forced but he continued laughing despite being breathless, his inhaler tightly held in his grip.

It felt great.

***

He gasped. He couldn’t breathe.

Scott scrambled up from his bed, waking up from a dream with a start, and made his way to the bathroom, desperately trying to find his spare inhaler. It was in this closet, it was in this cupboard below the sink-

He found it.

He took a breath, two, three, and coughed. He wondered why no one was rushing to him because on his way he had knocked down a pile of his school books and even his radio – he wondered if it finally kicked the bucket. Then he remembered that his mother had the night shift today, a favour for a friend, a little more for the electricity bill, and he shivered. If he hadn’t been prepared, he could have-

Maybe the whispers had a point. Maybe he would, someday, be the reason his mom would no longer be able to carry on. Please, no, his mom, he loved his mother, please, please, _please_ -

He shook his head and raised his eyes to look at his image, bound to be covered in cold sweat with a wild look on his face but the only thing he saw was a creature, and it was a creature, it looked kind of like Scott, then like Stiles, oh gosh, it kept morphing into different people – LydiaJacksonIsaac _Jackson_ momdadmomdad _dadStilesScott_ – before settling into a weird mix of no one and all of them. It pressed its hand against the class and when it spoke it said-

“ _Scott_.”

Scott clenched his eyes shut, scared, horrified, and wished, he so very deeply wished, for it to be gone. He repeated the words over and over again, desperate, his breath catching again. He opened his eyes.

It was.

Gone, it was.

He glanced around but no, there was nothing there. The mirror, too, stayed empty. Only his too pale face loomed there, tan almost non-existent, and brown eyes so wide there was more white visible than anything else. It was like he had actually died and only his ghost had been left behind.

But the voice, he knew it.

He knew it far too well, far too intimately, for never having had a face to it.

He didn’t sleep that night even if there were no whispers coming echoing in the dark, floating in the quiet of his room.

He told no one of it either.

Later, he wondered if he should have mentioned it to Stiles but then dismissed the thought. Despite their childhood adventures, despite Stiles treating Peter like it was alive, it was not like those things were reality. They had to be a mere figment of Scott’s imagination, and-

And he did not want to lose the only friend he had.

He did not want to be alone with the whispers.

Please, he thought to himself as he shouldered his bags and left for the eye, I don’t want to be crazy. I don’t want to cause even more grief.

 _Please_.

***

The shadows in his dreams now had a face, the whispers a mouth, and he still woke up with his feet green.

_(Scott.)_

***

During the sophomore year, a miracle happened. The most beautiful, gorgeous, life-changing miracle of his whole life.

Her name was Allison.

Allison Argent, moving from a high school to another, with her family being local royalty. He couldn’t believe she even deigned to look at him and see him and agree to go out with him. He had stammered so much, probably flushed an unattractive beet-red and he had almost had an asthma attack just from being near her with his heart going faster and faster by the moment. They had been put together for a project in English and, _oh_ , it had been the best decision his teacher could have ever made. They had gotten to know each other and, when the presentation had been over, he just had blurted it all out – all his feelings, all his admiration – and she-

She had said yes.

And Scott couldn’t have been happier.

He was lost in her eyes, happily, endlessly, and she – a true princess – was, maybe, _hopefully_ , as lost in his. At least Stiles said that she was, both just as blind, he said, and Stiles was usually right, almost always, no, always.

Stiles had the knack to see to the hearts of people and all the ugliness they hid within but he could also see the good, so Scott trusted him when he told him they were just as lost in each other as the other was.

Even the whispers quietened but Scott wasn’t sure if that was just because he was so maddeningly in love or if they stopped for any other reason but he did not care. Whatever it was, he was glad for it. Since that one night freshman year, he had tried to ignore them, done everything he could to stop them, but to no avail. Now, now he was just happy to have been left alone, mostly, finally.

Oh, the silence was wonderful.

(The nights, still, were a domain he could not control but at least he was safe during the day.)

The more he spent with Allison, the less he heard them. It was a sign. It had to be a sign of some sort. Maybe he could finally be free of them, completely, at some point. Maybe he had been waiting for her his entire life. With her came Lydia and Jackson and all those snooty people he wasn’t too fond of, but they no longer ignored him and Stiles which was good. It had made junior high so awkward in their small town. He started spending more and more time with them, getting to know them, to show that he and Stiles weren’t too different from them, that they could be friends too, that they didn’t have to be orchestrated, that his asthma wasn’t a disease and that Stiles was something greater than life.

So that neither of them had to be alone anymore, or Stiles with just Peter, or Scott-

Well.

He thought he was doing well too. No one had tried to bully them – and rarely had anyone even tried, for they all knew Stiles was vicious when threatened and Scott, too, could pack a mean punch in an emergency, his mother had showed him all about pressure points – and he could see them warm up to them, slowly but surely, and Allison’s smile grew brighter each day he and her friends got along.

What he couldn’t understand, though, was Stiles. He was getting more and more distant and, despite how much Scott tried to include him, he didn’t seem to hear his pleas. When Scott rescheduled their game nights, Stiles never appeared to care. He never came when Scott invited him to the outings that had been painstakingly arranged at least partly for their benefit, the ones Scott had so yearned to be included in, the ones he thought Stiles wanted in too but he just stayed home, or in the preserve, carrying that stuffed animal with him.

The whispers stayed but they were quiet, waiting, watching, easier to ignore than before.

Hurt, he turned to Allison, and let her smile warm his cold, tired body.

His dreams still continued, and his feet were still green, every morning, without fail.

***

It was during his senior year he met the creature those whispers belonged to.

It sat on his way in his dream woods, right in the middle of his path, as if waiting for him.

Scott stopped, careful, afraid. He wondered what it wanted from him, what it tried to achieve with all those whispers, what did it want, what did it need-

“Scott,” it said. And then it said nothing more.

Scott waited but only silence followed. There were no whispers anymore, none at all, because the source of them was quiet in front of him. He waited a moment, two, more than he could count, before he continued on his path, careful not to touch the creature. It wore the face of Scott-Stiles-mom but it was also covered in bandages of a sort, as if it was hurt and its expression was twisted like it was in pain.

He turned his eyes from it and continued on his way and it fell in step with him and, together, they walked through the woods towards where his heart was leading him to.

They didn’t reach it that night either but, when Scott woke up, it didn’t feel like his limbs were lead or that his heart was pulling him down anymore.

And there was a warm presence in the back of his mind, keeping him company.

His feet were still green but there were no longer whispers.

There didn’t need to be.

***

“I don’t understand him anymore.”

Scott paused, and listened. There, in the kitchen, stood Stiles’ father and his mom, tea cups between them, neither of them noticing him. He hid from the view, intrigued on what was going on.

“Stiles, he- he’s different. He doesn’t want to speak to me, he only ever cares about that cursed stuffed animal, he’s skipping school to go prancing in the preserve and he is so different, Melissa, I don’t-”

“He is a teenage boy,” his mother answered, gentle, kind. “He will talk to you when he is ready.”

Scott wondered if that was true and, slowly, realised that he hadn’t spoken with Stiles either in a while, not really. At school, certainly, but anywhere else, no. There were no game nights, no movie nights, no nights at all that were shared between the two of them. It was like they were friends – still best friends, he thought fiercely – but without any of the benefits that came with it, no pleasure that belonged in a functioning relationship.

He wondered how that could have happened.

_(It’s good, stay away, the creature urged within his mind, he is danger, he lives with the beast, he is a danger to us-)_

But it is Stiles, he thought back, distressed, afraid. How could he let that happen to his friend? It wasn’t like he enjoyed Jackson’s scorn and Lydia’s snipes as much as he loved the quiet moments between him and Stiles and the laughter they shared. He loved Allison, there was no doubt about that, but-

His mind moved, displeasure showing, as it did every time his mind turned towards his girlfriend. Scott grit his teeth.

Stop it, he commanded, and he only heard a scoff.

He called Allison, and told her what he had realised, confessed his sins.

He could feel her worry in her words, the ghost of the touch of her soft yet firm arms around him.

“I’ll support you,” she told him, and he believed it and his heart swelled with all the love he felt for her.

His mind stayed quiet but Scott knew it disapproved.

He ignored it.

It was his mom, Stiles and Allison he cared about.

No one else mattered.

No one.

The presence retreated to the corner furthest away from him, hiding from him, but it didn’t manage to do so before a fleeting bite of hurt permeated the air. The spike was so strong that Scott felt it in his heart, and his breath stuttered for a second.

Something was different.

The creature, the presence, it was alive. It had _feelings_.

It was not merely a manifestation of everything hateful in his life.

And Scott’s eyes opened.

He was not alone, and the feeling of fate tying him down started to make sense, little by little. He was not crazy, no. He was a host.

But what was he a host for?

***

“You can call me No,” the creature said.

They had reached the place where his heart tugged him, where the creature had led him, and it was a large tree stump in the middle of the woods, just a stone throw away from where he had found the creature days, maybe weeks, before. The dreams and the reality sometimes were hard to follow and the distance was relative, it always had been.

It made him wonder if this was the distance the creature had from the place for before Scott reached it, it was like there had been a door closed between them and now, now, it was open and their minds were linked, and they walked as one even if they were still separate, they were not the same-

“No,” Scott tried it out anyway, short and sharp, so unlike the softening end when the word was used to deny, deny, _deny_.

“Yes.”

The creature, _No_ , pressed something against Scott’s palm, something sharp, and it drew blood because Scott wasn’t ready, he startled, and he-

He woke up.

He slowly rose to sit, his alarm telling him he still had an hour before he needed to wake up, and he looked at his lap where there laid a single blade, a little longer than a dagger, a lot shorter than a sword.

_(Keep it safe. It is mine.)_

Reverently, he touched it, and it hummed, vibrated, beneath his touch.

_(I do not want to hurt you.)_

And Scott believed it.

He had his name.

_(No, No is not my name, my name is-)_

I know, Scott thought, and his heart swelled again with all the love he felt, all the care he could give and No was silent, overwhelmed, in the back of his mind.

I know.

***

Sometimes it seemed like Stiles watched him and didn’t really think he was real.

Sometimes Scott watched Stiles and didn’t really think he was real.

They matched, the both of them.

Two sides of the same coin.

“I’m sorry,” he told him. He meant it. He looked straight into his friend’s eyes and he could see he believed him but there was something there, something wary, as if he could sense Scott was no longer alone in his body.

“So am I,” Stiles said, and took the hand Scott offered him and fell into the hug Scott initiated.

No hissed in the back of his mind, tried to claw himself free and – for some reason Scott could not understand – he wanted to attack Stiles.

 _(The beast! he yelled. The beast will get us, the monsters are coming for us, the last part of me that is free,_ free _, I do not want to be lost, tied down, I don’t-_

 _(I don’t want my last hope to be_ crushed _-)_

Even with the screams creating a headache, wave after wave drilling his brain, he did not let go until Stiles started squirming in his arms, minutes, hours, later.

He was making an effort, he tried to tell him, showing his intentions with actions when words failed him. Stiles looked at him, worried, afraid to trust his word – why? why, because I tried my best for us, not just for me – but while their hug ended, their touch didn’t.

They sat in silence and looked at the sundown together.

***

“I am not complete,” No said as they sat on the stump. As time went by, the dreams felt less like dreams and more like reality. And his feet, they were still green, every night, without fail.

“Do you want to be?” Scott asked. He swung his feet and watched the sky. It was dark, everything was dark, there were no stars and no moon, there was only Scott and No and the stump and the dark woods around them.

“If I do, I-” No was quiet. “I think I will go mad. Mad with hate, mad with grief, mad with everything because once I was nine and now I am one and the rest of me, the eight parts of me that I have lost, have been kept in chains too long to be sane anymore, too long in pain and disgrace to be recognised as anything but a demon.”

Scott hummed, and leaned against him, offering his shoulder for comfort, initiating contact.

“You can use me as your anchor.”

No halted in all his movements. “What?” he breathed out, careful, brittle.

Scott smiled.

“If it is madness you fear, use me as a shield. If it is the hate of others, hide within my heart. Whatever you need, I am here.”

“But- I-” No sounded lost. “Why would you do that?”

Scott thought about it for a second, before he just shrugged.

“Because you need it.”

And I have plenty to give.

He felt No’s eyes on him but he just rested his head against No’s shoulder and soaked in the presence of the creature. He had once feared him, hated him, but now he just realised how broken he was, how much he needed someone by his side.

Stiles had Peter, Scott realised. Peter. The beast. They had to be the same. No’s reactions made no sense otherwise. Scott did not understand what he meant by monsters – it seemed as if No thought them all the same but Scott knew that Stiles would ally himself to no one who was cruel and hateful to the bottom of their soul – but he knew he didn’t really need to either.

Scott had No. He didn’t have lacrosse, he didn’t really have much of anything either. Even Allison wasn’t really his even while he loved her and she loved him, not the way Lydia had claimed her as hers. Even Stiles was not completely his, not the way Peter had claimed him as his.

It was alright.

Scott had plenty of space in his heart for them all.

And he had No.

“Thank you,” No whispered and Scott found himself surrounded.

He had plenty of love to share.

***

“Scott.”

Scott turned around. Things had been strange recently between the two of them, between Scott and Stiles. The wariness had not left his friend, the feeling that he sensed No sharing Scott’s body. Scott didn’t know how that was possible but it was. It separated them. It made him sad, and even Allison’s comforting touch was not enough to reassure him completely, not with the way No still shied away from her.

_(A hunter, he told Scott. She comes from a long line of hunters. And they started it all and because of them, I was- I am-)_

Yes, Scott thought, that might be true. But it is not Allison.

_(She is their scion.)_

But she is not them. Just like you are not like the rest. Just like Peter is not like the rest.

No was quiet.

_(How do you know?)_

Because I know her. Because I know myself. Because I know you. Because I know Stiles.

And he did. Even with everything pulling them apart, Scott fought his way through to Stiles. He couldn’t see the monster that Peter apparently was – he still saw merely the stuffed animal he had always known – and he still couldn’t see the world that apparently was there – No kept telling him stories, all about the things that were out there, and they were the same stories Scott had hidden within his heart when Stiles had told him about them – but it was alright.

He knew, now.

And he accepted the burden.

“I trust you, Stiles,” he told his friend. Stiles’ eyes widened, shocked, and there was something broken in them that hurt Scott’s heart. But he needed to tell him that because he knew Stiles needed to hear that. That Scott was alright with it.

Because he knew that No had to be whole and he was in the way of making that happening.

He pressed his hand against Stiles’ cheek and his friend flinched as if he was struck.

“I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t,” Stiles whispered. Scott felt eyes on him but he didn’t care.

“So I am told,” he said instead, and Stiles looked up at him alarmed.

“I’m sorry, Scott,” Stiles told him. Scott nodded.

“I know.”

They both were.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

They both did.

But sometimes, love was not enough. Sometimes, it was insufficient. And Scott knew that. Stiles knew that.

And it was a bitter truth to accept.

Yet, the rest of the time, it was just enough.

“There is something inside me,” Scott said, placing a hand over his chest. He felt more than saw Stiles’ eyes follow his movement, resting on the spot where he was gripping at his shirt. “Someone. I can feel him. I think I always have, just never knew it as something separate until recently. But things have been different, now, haven’t they? With the both of us.”

We shouldn’t have been dealing with these things alone. We should have spoken the words out loud because, no matter how close we were, how close we _are_ , we are not the same person. Our minds are not linked. There are no certainties in relationships, and it took us this long to recognise it between us because we? We were so close, like brothers, we still are but-

Even brothers are not perfect and always in sync.

Stiles winced as if he was in pain, as if he understood the same thing Scott did and, when their eyes met, both of their gazes were filled with regret and the moments lost between them would always be missed.

“I-” Stiles faltered, hesitant. He glanced somewhere on his left before returning to meet Scott’s. He wasn’t sure what he had looked at but it seemed to steel Stiles’ resolve, whatever it was. “I believe I can help you. To remove that which binds you. But-”

Scott nodded. He knew the price.

_(Scott.)_

“Samhain, then,” he smiled sadly, hand feeling the soft and steady beat of his heart. They stared at each other’s eyes, both looking for something, craving for something, but neither seemed to be able to grasp what that exactly was and why they could not get it.

_(Scott!)_

“Samhain.”

***

“You fool,” No whispered, cradling Scott in his arms. Scott nodded sluggishly.

“Maybe,” he said, and together they listened the silence of the dream that wasn’t a dream.

_But you are worth it._

No’s arms tightened around him, and he closed his eyes.

_So are you._

It would all change tomorrow.

For better or for worse.

That night his dreams were quiet and peaceful, and his feet – for the first time in forever – stayed clean.

***

He walked through the woods, following the same path that lingered in his dreams.

He was barefoot like he was in them, uncaring of the eyes on him, those that he could see and those he could not. No hissed inside him, paced within his mind, seemingly ready to attack anyone and everyone that looked at them wrong.

Scott only saw the woods around him but he could feel the air and the electricity in it, he could smell the smoke.

He could see the ice and the shadows and, almost, he could hear roars of creatures coming alive from fairy tales.

Something was happening around them but nothing touched Scott.

He walked.

He walked the path he had walked for thousands of times before, all while in a dream-like state, bending reality and dreams alike. Now, though, he knew what waited him at the end of the line.

_(Until the end of the line.)_

Scott nodded.

Always.

He walked past the spot he had met No so many months before, back when he had still been afraid, still so lost. Now, he knew where he stood. He knew what he was supposed to do. He hadn't been chosen for this fate; rather, it had been passed down for him but he didn't mind in the end. If someone had to do it, he would rather it was him and not someone else.

Besides, he knew he was not alone.

When he stepped into the clearing, he saw the tree stump there and, around it, people he knew and he didn’t know but still knew, waiting for him.

Stiles stood there. There were dark circles around his eyes and Scott could see them glow a red that meant he had been crying. Beside him stood a man, probably in his thirties, and he looked like he was ready to attack anyone who tried to harm a hair from Stiles’ head.

Scott approved. He could recognise Peter now.

A third person lingered there too, and this time Scott was a little surprised. Lydia. He looked around but he couldn’t see Allison there, and he was glad for that. It was dangerous out there tonight. Even if nothing had touched Scott on his way there, it was probably different for everyone else.

He stepped forward, and he raised his hand in which he was holding the blade No had gifted him. Stiles’ eyes widened.

“That- That is-”

“Yes,” Scott nodded. “This is what you need, isn’t it?”

Stiles hesitated, bit his lip, as if he didn’t want to answer, almost like he didn’t want to be there at all. His eyes kept wandering around and Scott knew at that moment that they were not alone in the clearing, just like he had suspected, just like always, he just couldn't see them.

“It is,” Peter answered instead and stepped forward. He tried to take the blade from Scott but he withdrew it, holding it close. Peter’s eyes flashed red.

“No,” Scott said. “It is not for you to touch. No monster is going to touch it, deemed by the Trickster.”

This time it was Peter’s eyes that widened and he took a step back, bowing his head respectfully.

“As you wish.”

Scott turned back to Stiles. He held the blade out.

“Only you.”

Stiles was pale and he looked sick. “Are you sure?”

Scott nodded. “Only you.”

I trust only you with this.

Stiles took the blade and, together, they walked to the stump. To the Nemeton. Lydia stepped up to stand next to Stiles, with Scott in the middle, facing the two of them. Peter was standing further away as if to guard them, as if there was a war happening around them that only he could see.

There probably was.

“Trust me?” Stiles whispered.

Scott stared at him, his best friend and brother and once his only true ally. The look in Stiles’ eyes was imploring and he was pleading, and Scott’s heart tugged to answer him. Everything in their lives was something bigger than them; bigger than Scott, bigger than Stiles, bigger than anything they had ever gone against, and Stiles was begging for Scott’s support in it.

And Scott nodded for the one last time, smile stretching over his face, calm, relaxed.

Free.

“Always,” he answered.

Scott felt brief pain as his chest was pierced. His eyes never left Stiles’, watching the look in his eyes turn scared yet determined, horrified but grateful. He gave him as bright smile as he could muster before glancing at his chest where the blade No had entrusted to him stuck out and he-

He fell on his back on the Nemeton behind him. His eyes turned to look up to the sky and he watched the moonless and starless sky above them. It was dark. Everything was quiet. It was like he was, once again, inside his endless dreams. He felt the shadows close in on him and-

Everything was hazy. There were people yelling, cursing, and Scott heard noises like people were fighting somewhere faraway. He had no idea if they were actually close or not. His head was swimming and he was pretty sure he was bleeding out. Somehow, it felt like he was bleeding more than blood, more than his life, more than-

The stump pulsated under him.

Stiles.

Where was Stiles?

Scott closed his eyes.

He hoped Stiles was okay, that No was finally complete, and Scott had been able to help him and-

His heart stopped.

***

Everything stopped the moment Scott drew his last breath so Stiles knew the exact moment it happened. No one breathed. No one moved. No one dared to do anything.

Everyone’s eyes were on the body lying on the Nemeton.

A moment passed in silence.

And another.

Another.

Lydia cried out, voice so high pitched it was almost impossible to hear but there it was, calling out, crying out, shrieking for the gates to open, for the shackles to break, for the Veil to fall-

There was a flash of colour, of too much power building, and something cracked in the air and-

There was noise everywhere. The ground rumbled. The air froze. The fires burnt, the waters rose, the birds screeched and the animals howled and everyone and everything was in pain and Stiles could hear Derek whimper in despair and Lydia shriek more humanly and in pain, and Peter growl and nothing was alright anymore and the sky was tearing and the air was shattering and-

Scott was-

_Scott had-_

Stiles opened his eyes.

Something inside him broke into tiny little pieces.

Everything was white.

He screamed.

The world screamed.

And everything they had once known was ripped apart to bare essentials and built anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene is set. No action is without its consequences.
> 
> To be continued in Part Four, _The World We Destroyed_.
> 
> (Sorry.)


End file.
